


Wexler House

by GingerConroy



Category: Original Work, Tom Hardy - Fandom
Genre: Eerie, F/M, Haunted House, Sexual Situations, Suspense, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerConroy/pseuds/GingerConroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***EDIT: Written several years ago, I plan on going back and removing grammatical errors, expanding on the story and improving it.***</p><p>Hope Griffiths is a historian and architectural expert from William and Mary College.  She is recruited by her mentor, Dr. Hans Kruse, to see if an old 19th century home in Wexler, South Carolina is worth saving from destruction.  Dr. Kruse and his colleagues believe president Lincoln may have stopped by there once, many years after the house was built during a campaign visit.  They want Hope to gather enough evidence to see if the grand old home should be restored and put on the National Historic Register.  Once Hope gets there she feels a sense of foreboding as unnatural events take place all around her.  A local woman has ties to the home and lives nearby, giving Hope the full story of the property and what has gone on there in the past.  It is now clear to Hope that she must do everything she can to save the home, especially if the ghost that haunts it's corridors wants to rest.</p><p>Special note:  The physical appearance of Tom Hardy is my inspiration for the ghost of Nicholas Wexler.<br/>Note: Wexler, South Carolina is a fictional town and so is Blue Creek County, South Carolina</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wexler House

Ghosts.

Hope Griffiths was not one to believe in them. She was a realist. There was no afterlife, there was no "things that go bump in the night", no God, no monsters, nothing. Rational people who heard and saw things that weaker, more silly people believed to be phantoms, just reasoned it was the wind or a settling house. Or coincidences. Big coincidences. So what was Hope doing, sitting with a ton of lights on, her legs shaking as she tried to calm herself down and just watch a nice news program on the TV and focus on the work at hand? Why did she have her cell phone at her side, ready in a moments notice to call Hans and tell him she was bailing on this project? It was very late and she needed sleep. But she knew she wouldn't get that until she faced whatever was going on inside the house. Something was here with her, possibly...but what? Nicholas?

He was watching her now.

"God and saints preserve me," Hope muttered when she heard what sounded like him whispering something, all too close.

***

One week earlier

Hope was speeding along the interstate, trying to eat a fast food burger in one hand and change the radio from the pop song she loathed to something more hard rock. She almost veered into another lane

A car on the left blared it's horn at her. "Sorry!" she mouthed, feeling like an ass.

She pulled over into Lucky's Car Wash to check some text messages that came in and finish her lunch. Hans wanted her to call him as soon as possible. Her best friend Wendi was wanting to talk about her latest boyfriend problems. A second text from Hans "Where are you?"

She called Hans right away. Normally he isn't so urgent.

"Hans Kruse," he answered. No matter how many times she called him and knew good and well he had her in his contact list, when she called him he always answered this way, formally.

"What's going on? Where's the fire?" she asked, joking.

"Have you ever heard of Wexler House?" he asked, knowing good and well Hope was familiar with every antebellum home in the United States.

"Of course. One of South Carolina's saddest crumblers. It's a mess but amazing, it's..." she stated.

"...I knew you'd know of it," Hans quickly interrupted. "It is indeed in a state of bad disrepair. The last of the family died twenty years ago. Listen, the board and I have been talking....they want to preserve it. We do not know what it looks like inside, but need to find out in order to see just what we're dealing with..."

"...Hans, you want me to go see it," Hope cut to the chase. She knew Dr. Kruse so well.

"Yes. Yes...and I want you to try and stay nearby with a local woman named Joan Bishop. She is a distant relative of the greens keeper who used to work for the Wexler's. She lives in a house not far from the property. I need a lot of photos, structural analysis. Your expertise."

Hope was nodding and making a get-on-with-it motion with her hands.

"Can you leave on Friday?"

"Yes Hans. Of course." She wasn't teaching anything because Summer semester had ended. It would be a while before Fall. Plus, she wanted to go back to South Carolina. and look at some records for personal reasons. It was a promise she made her late mother, but Dr. Kruse didn't need to know about all that.

 

Hope Griffiths had been a history nerd from day one. Her leanings towards architectural history began in her teens when she almost considered trying to set up a restoration business with her Uncle Bobby. He was always into fixing up old houses and Hope would go check out properties with him before he decided what to do. It wasn't until later that she realized the difference between restoration and preservation. Restoring meant taking something and rebuilding it a little more than preservationists would like; preservationists wanted to keep as much as they could 'as is'. Wexler House would need both. She had seen the home once when her friends took a road trip from her home town in Richmond, Virginia to Charleston, South Carolina. The place was a dingy white, foreboding old manse sitting back from Highway 40 in Blue Creek County. She remembers the DO NOT TRESPASS signs hanging on the fence and how the house sat back from the road at a distance with a dirt road leading up to it. A local historic society sign said, Wexler House, built 1825 by Ezra Wexler. The sign had a buckshot hole in it. Hope and her friends didn't trespass, but she remembers that trip like it was yesterday and how she wanted so badly to enter those gates and approach the old thing.

Hope's mother came from South Carolina, so she had a keen interest in the history of the area. Her mother was adopted and somewhere in South Carolina her mother's birth parents had existed. Her mom died without ever finding them, but told Hope she'd love it if her daughter could put a name to them. It was a task Hope's mom knew her daughter would embrace for her sake and for Hope's love of research. The problem was records from the 1950s were gone. She put the search on the back burner for years and proceeded to focus on her work.

Dr. Kruse taught Hope at William and Mary and saw her potential. He warned her that there wasn't much of a career in historical fields anymore. Hope didn't care. She didn't want to be a lawyer or high school teacher, like some historically-inclined people became. She wanted to work at a university or museum. It just so-happened that when an adjunct professor left for Brown University, Hope saw her chance. Kruse was able to hire her as an assistant professor within six months after she got her Masters. Within a year from now, Hope was going to have a Doctorate's, but she still had to prove herself to Kruse's superiors if she wished to become a full-fledged professor at William and Mary.

Now as she was packing for the trip, she was thinking about how if she could prove to Kruse and the board that this place was worth preserving, plus finding some historical significance along the way, she could really promote herself sooner.

As she was sitting down on her bursting suit case to flatten everything out, Hans called her.

"Yes, Hans?" she answered, kind of impatiently.

"Oh, Hope...I forgot to tell you. James sent me some documents from a local library in Blue Creek County. Hope, they say Lincoln stayed at Wexler House in 1860."

Hope sat there for a second, "His 1860 campaign? He was down in Wexler?"

"Well, the town wasn't called Wexler at the time. It was called Knightsville....Hope, I don't want to think James messed up again and sent us on a wild goose chase. Can you take a look at some local documents? A Sherry Conner-Davis at the library is a good contact. There is so much data there I think you are more fit to go through it than James."

Hope was excited about this. James was a graduate student who wanted to be like Hope. Hope was an assistant professor who wanted to be like...well Hope as a full-fledged professor, but really like Hans. Associating a house like this with Lincoln could definitely help with preservation efforts.

"Hans, I will definitely check up on this. It could be huge," she assured him.

"Good," he answered. "And I trust that you know how to get there and...."

"Hans...I've got it."

 

After a brief plane ride and then car ride, Hope made it to Wexler House that Friday afternoon. The gate had been locked and the sign she saw the last time with the buckshot hole was removed. She proceeded down the long dusty drive towards the house.

The place was indeed still scary.

Wexler looked as it did when she last saw it but since she could now drive up to it, she could see the details. It was a white house with four columns that were now gray and covered in cracks and kudzu vines. There were a lot of broken wooden boards which made the house look more ramshackle in some areas. All of the windows were shuttered and the two great doors were paint-cracked and chained with a padlock. Leaves blew across the porch, which ran entirely around the great house. The thing looked to have about 20 rooms to it. A large side-house was attached which probably was added on later and housed the kitchen. In the 1800s kitchens were best kept apart from the house or off to the side to avoid cooking fires from spreading from their great fireplaces to the rest of the house. She looked up and counted five dark brick chimneys. Oleander, wisteria, roses, and magnolias all grew around the house, along with oaks and a few pine. Luckily, someone was taking care of the lawn but put up a tacky lawn jockey statue from the 20th century at the foot of the front steps. A pile of old bricks was off to the side of the house, looking as if they were accumulating from a falling part of the building somewhere.

Above the door in weathered engraving it said 'Our Home Is Our Life'. As she was starting at it a whippoorwill called out sadly from a nearby tree, making Hope shudder. Hope was brought out of this creepy feeling when she heard a car and turned away from the house. A 1980s Volvo came up the long dusty driveway towards her. It was Joan Bishop.

Joan looked like Carol Kane. Hope couldn't help but smirk a little as Joan got out of the car and a Scottie dog wearing a spiked collar more fitting for a bull dog jumped out after her. "You stay there, Herman!" Joan told the dog. He listened to her and sat by the car. "I don't want to go around chasing you like the last time!" Joan was dressed a little too much like 70s Stevie Nicks for Hope to not think it was too amusing. Joan looked like a tarot card-reading eccentric. This should be fun, Hope thought.

"Hello...you must be Hope," Joan said, smiling warmly and extending a hand with tons of Bakelite bracelets on it.

"Yes, you must be Joan Bishop," Hope smiled back.

Joan looked up at the house, "Well. This is it. This is Wexler House." Joan had her hands akimbo and closed her eyes, breathing in the flowers, her curly hair flowing in the breeze.

Hope didn't know if she just saw something special there with old Joan. She was amused but charmed.

"You know anything about this place, honey?" Joan then said, looking at her.

Hope turned and faced the house. "Only that it was built by Ezra Wexler back in 1825. I also know he wasn't a part of the slavery system...which was odd back then."

"No, no...he was a displaced Northerner. A lawyer and a herbologist. He had made a lot of money up in Pennsylvania, representing Senators and society people. He donated a lot of money to a local church so the Southerners down here liked him. Plus his wife had a beautiful singing voice, which all the townspeople of Knightsville loved."

Hope didn't know all of this. She had wondered why a Northerner would move down to the South. Back then it was like night and day. Abolitionists and slaveholders. How could a man from up north want to live amongst slavery? She asked Joan for more details.

"So, he just decided to pack up and move south?"

"Yes. We don't know exactly why. I know his son Nicholas Wexler was sort of an odd seed and people think that had something to do with it. My grandfather told me Nicholas was thought to have killed a man up north. Dunno if it was true. People say it was. My grandfather said his grandfather didn't know Nicholas to be violent or anything. But he was definitely touched."

Touched was a southern way of saying someone was mentally ill.

"So Nicholas may or may not have killed a man, which may or may not have propelled the Wexlers to move down here. How did the people down here put up with that?" Hope asked.

"Money. The Wexlers had lots and lots of money. In fact, some of the families down here were still eager to marry their daughters off to Nicholas. But that never happened. He died of cholera before he was set to marry Nancy Bourdeaux, one of the local beauties."

Hope thought for a minute, "When did he die?"

"I think just within two years of moving here. He was probably twenty-eight. A late bachelor."

"Did the Wexlers have anymore children?"

"Three others. Three girls who all married local men, except for the youngest. The youngest girl, Susannah, was very close to Nicholas and her diaries survive." Joan smiled and added, "And I have several of those diaries in my house."

Hope immediately liked Joan. This lady probably kept anything important and hoarded it. She couldn't wait to see Joan's house.

"Let's go inside."

 

They walked up the front steps and Hope thought she caught something off in the woods to her left. She looked for a couple seconds but it was nothing.

Joan unbolted the chains and then unlocked a few more overly unnecessary second and third deadbolts and finally opened the doors. They creaked like in a scary movie and a few dead leaves blew in. Joan went in first, then Hope. Joan looked back at Herman, who was laying in the grass, "We'll be back, Herman!"

The smell of the house was musty and very ancient, like moldy books and old furnishings. It was certainly better-preserved than the outside. There were white sheets and tarps on everything and a lot of the original decorations from the last inhabitants many decades ago were still there. Joan went on to tell her the family died out twenty years ago, with the last descendant, Benita Wexler keeping the place looking like it did in the early 1900s. Benita was an old spinster, but a kindly one who hosted parties at the home until she was moved to an upscale nursing home the next town over. After that, Joan's family and the local historical society tried to keep Wexler House from falling into complete ruin. "My grandfather spent all his money trying to keep this place from being seized by the bank, Joan added." Her grandfather was the greens keeper for Miss Benita for many years. Joan added that it was mainly he who kept the old woman company. Joan added that she thought they had a little love affair.

Hope nodded, taking in the old wallpaper which looked to be 1800s original. The flowers and designs could barely be made out, but were definitely there. The home had a light green paint over some of the woodwork, which was the style at the time.

Hope took out her expensive camera, "Do you mind, Joan?"

"Oh no, snap away. I have loads of photos, myself."

Joan then turned on the lights and the entire place lit up, surprising Hope that electricity was even being kept at the house. She noticed all the paintings on the walls were held up by thin rope that strung them to where the walls met the ceiling...everything was old. A black wire ran each of the lights in the house into a hole in the wall, thus proving the original wiring was also in place and also reminding her the place could be a firetrap. She turned and went into the parlor and over the fireplace hung a painting of Ezra and his wife. He was a handsome man with dark hair and long sideburns. She was a beautiful blonde woman with her hair parted down the middle and curls cinched high on either side of her face. She looked sad and they were both wearing all black garments.

"That was painted after Nicholas died," Joan said, coming up and standing next to Hope.

There were many other paintings and artistic objects in the room. A silk mourning sampler with a Greek-style woman crying next to an urn that said 'Nicholas Allen Wexler, My Beloved Brother, 1799 - 1827' on it. A painting of three blonde girls and some dogs. A painting of an old woman which Joan went on to say was one of the Wexler daughters later in life. A few more paintings of later family through the years. More samplers, cross stiches, and lace needlework. Hope's head swam with all the well-preserved familial objects here. It was like she stepped into life paused in the 19th century. But the paintings aged with the family. From the centerpiece over the fireplace depicting the patriarch and matriarch to the later paintings and eventually photographs showing the family's passage through time, it was all here. Antebellum, Civil War era, Emancipation, Industrialization....empire waists, hoop skirts, tighter bodices, Titanic-era large hats, eventually a photo of Benita in roaring twenties clothes. It was all here.

An enormous painting in a darkened corner was the only one that didn't show a representation of a family member in it. "Who made this?" Hope asked about the dingy painting. As she got closer it looked almost sinister and very depressing. It depicted a forest at midnight, a full moon overhead. It looked like an El Greco except she knew it had to be by another person's hand.

"Oh, that was painted by Nicholas himself," Joan nodded. "He was quite the talent. They all were in some way. His sister Bethany played piano....that very one covered up over there," she motioned to a tarp covering something huge, "...and his other sister Ursula played flute and sang just like their mother. Susannah was a quite talented with the needlework...she made the mourning sampler for her brother."

Hope looked at the painting. There was no life in it except the trees. It made her feel instantly sad. She walked away from it.

"Joan, let me ask you something. If Nicholas was the only one capable of carrying on the Wexler name and he died before having any offspring, how did Benita end up with the last name Wexler?"

Joan laughed, "You caught that, eh? Well Susannah married a third cousin, Bradley Wexler. He was pretty abusive from what I understand. It was their line that stayed in the house. They had four children, just like her parents did. And just like her parents they had three girls and one boy. The boy was Benita's grandfather."

Hope started looking around the room. Everyone was painted. "Where is Nicholas' portrait?"

"Follow me," Joan said.

Walking through the grand house was making Hope even more giddier. She couldn't believe no one had broken in and took anything. Maybe the imposingly bad facade kept thieves out. Maybe it was Joan's grandfather's watchful eye. Those questions could wait for later. The place was amazing.

She followed Joan up the oak staircase and down a long hall of doors. There were about ten doors here. The very last one had a skeleton key. Joan paused for dramatic affect, "This, my dear, was Susannah and Bradley's old room, then Miss Benita's....let's take a look." Hope smiled and shook her head behind Joan.

The room had a large four poster bed and several accents from the past 100 years. A large imposing dresser was up against one wall with a very old mirror attached at the top. A highboy and a rocking chair were at another side. A television from the early 1980s was surprisingly in there. "That RCA still works," Joan said about the TV. A huge fireplace was up against the wall facing the bed. And above it was the image of Nicholas Allen Wexler, likely depressed individual and possible murderer.

"He wasn't bad on the eyes," Joan offered, folding her arms and looking up at him.

He was very striking, indeed. He had light brown hair with slight amber tones. His sideburns ran down his cheeks, as was the style at the time. He had hazel eyes that looked haunted and yet soft. Full lips with no smile and a perfect long nose graced his face. He had a book in his hand on his lap and a vacant blue-green sky painted behind him. Hope was instantly enamored by this portrait, just like Joan, and the two stared at it for a second. Both sighed.

Hope then snapped out of it. "He looks sad," she said.

"Yeah. I think he was a dark horse. Definitely had something bothering him and the entire family," Joan replied, "Susannah was devoted to her older brother. She was just two years younger than him and they were childhood playmates. She looked up to him an awful lot. I believe grandfather once told me Bradley hated this painting so much he made Susannah cover it because it looked like it was always looking at him."

"Well, it is kind of strange to have a painting of your brother staring straight into your marriage bed," Hope remarked.

"Oh no...this painting wasn't in here when Bradley was alive. It was initially in the parlor, but then moved to the basement and covered while Bradley lived here. Neither Nicholas nor Bradley were very fond of one another. Once Ezra and his wife Elizabeth died, Bradley assumed control over the home. And that is when people say Bradley began to go mad. He was the one who told people that his cousin Nicholas had murdered someone. After that rumor got out of control, Bradley became more and more abusive to Susannah, and eventually hung himself from a bridge not far from here."

"What? Wow," Hope said, then joked, "So did the ghost of old Nick Wexler show up or something and make Bradley go insane?"

Joan turned to her, grinning, "How did you know about the ghost?"


	2. Our Hearts are Broken

Hope followed Joan back to her house, which was a mile down the road, but still a part of the Wexler family property. She was prepared to be humored by some ghost tale, almost expecting some kind of southern gothic romance story. Joan seemed the type to want to spin yarns, especially since she had 200 year old mansion practically in her backyard just begging for a tourist opportunity.

Joan's place was a cozy little three bedroom house filled to the gills with Americana, artwork, Elvis memorabilia, and scrapbooks. Hope would expect nothing less.

"So you can stay as long as you want...I am eager to see what you find here," Joan said, bringing a glass of iced tea to Hope. "Also...you are more than welcome to stay up at the big house as much as you'd like, but just let me know because the electricity can be expensive."

"Oh, Hans wanted to extend to you some money for all of this," Hope said, forgetting about the check from William and Mary.

Joan took it and quickly placed it in her purse, "Stay up there all night and keep every light on in the house!" Joan joked.

"Well, I think I will just be a few days, at most a week, "Hope said. 

"That is perfectly fine," Joan said. "Just remember to lock up the house."

Hope thought for a moment, "How come no one has robbed the place yet?"

"This is a quiet community. No one knows what's in there...and everyone is afraid of the house that knows, anyways."

Herman jumped up in Joan's lap and she started petting him, "Even old Herman here isn't so sure of the place," she added.

"What's going on there? Tell me about it."

Joan turned down the TV that had been kept on during their absence. "Well, I've never seen anything myself, but Miss Benita and grandfather did. And a lady who came to clean the house once. I never knew my grandfather to lie or spin tales. He was an honest man who wasn't into fakery. But he said he saw Nicholas Wexler walk into the clearing behind the house, look right up from an impossible distance directly at my grandfather, who was looking out from Miss Benita's bedroom window, and then disappear into nothing."

Hope narrowed her eyes, "He saw Nicholas or a guy who looked like Nicholas?"

Joan was serious, "It was Nicholas alright. He had on the clothes of a an early 19th-century man. Unless there was some sort of man masquerading as Nicholas out in the middle of nowhere....nope, grandfather was adamant about what he saw. And he had all his marbles until his death at 90."

Hope didn't really believe this but was entertained, all the same, "So what did Benita see?"

"Oh she saw Nicholas all the time, that one did. She told my grandfather that she would talk to Nicholas and he would answer back by knocking on walls in the house."

"What? Like tapping?" 

"Exactly like that."

"Mmm hmmm," Hope nodded. This all sounded lifted from a ghost hunting television program. But she was still interested.

"What did Nicholas say to Benita?"

Joan thought for a moment, "He just kept saying the same thing. It was pointless stuff, really. No one knows what he was talking about...but I have my theories. Benita had to develop a system where she'd ask a question and based on the number of taps or knocks she'd get her answer," Joan went on, "I even tried it myself as a child, but my grandfather spanked me and told me to not be waking anything that doesn't need to be woken up."

"Hmm."

"I know you don't believe me, but that is okay. I suppose it does sound a bit silly," Joan said. "All I know is grandfather wasn't a superstitious man. He believed in God and Jesus...but he didn't fool with ghosts. Not after seeing and hearing enough things to turn his hair white."

"Did he hear the knocking? What did Nicholas say?"

"Oh yeah. Grandfather heard the noises Nicholas made. Benita had it all down to a science and even wrote some stuff down," Joan started looking around, "Where is that book?"

She got up and fetched some lemon bars she made and a tattered book from a shelf. "Here it is...oh, have a lemon bar..." Joan said while offering the plate to Hope. "...Miss Benita's scribblings."

Hope took a lemon bar, which tasted divine. Joan read the book, "April 10, 1978...Mr. Nicholas woke me up moaning and carrying on down in the parlor. I got up, didn (sic) see nobody there. Then he started tapping again at the wall. I asked him what was so bad that he had to wake me up. He should have better respeckt (sic) for his own kin...He said the same damned thing he always says, 'Not me...it wasn't me...'. I told him to not go waking an old lady or I was going to put his portrait in the basement like greatgrandaddy did."

Hope sat there looking at Joan as she looked for more interesting entries, "So, she's saying he kept telling her 'Not me...' over and over again?"

"Yes m'am...that's what she always said. It's obvious it was about that old murder mystery," Joan mused. 

"So how does this knocking system work?" Hope asked.

"Well, apparently they developed their own Morse code," Joan answered, "Except it wasn't Morse code, exactly...but you get what I mean."

"Uh huh," Hope nodded.

Joan gave Herman a lemon bar, which he chomped on greedily, "Miss Benita said originally he would answer with 'No', 'Yes', 'I am Nicholas Wexler', 'I am not living'...stuff like that. But 90 percent of the time it was 'Not me...it wasn't me'. And that, my friend, has got to be related to the murder. Unless he done something else bad."

"What did the lady see who cleaned the house?"

"She saw him in the parlor looking out the window. Scared her right out the front door."

"And you've never seen him?"

"Nope. I don't know if I want to, either."

 

***

 

Hope went to sleep that night not believing a word of any of it. It was interesting, fun perhaps, but there was no proof of ghosts. She certainly hadn't seen her mother after she passed, and wasn't about to believe in some gothic southern legend.

 

***

Hope headed up to Wexler House the next morning with her laptop, camera, a few snacks, and her cell phone. Joan offered to go with her in case she "was scared of the stories last night" but Hope smiled and declined. 

She unlocked the chains and two deadbolts and let herself inside. She flipped on the lights and just took in the smell of history. She felt she could actually cut into the 19th century with a knife in this place. She looked to her right after she got in; Ezra and Elizabeth looked at her from their home above the fireplace. She looked to her left. It was a small sitting area that wasn't well lit. She could make out more covered items and antiques. Straight ahead was a living room but before that was a hall that shot off to the right and led to the kitchen. She headed that way. 

The kitchen was cooler than the rest of the house. It was all stone and an old huge wooden table sat in the middle of the room with cold stone floors underneath. The fireplace obviously doubled as a place to cook, as it was enormous. An old unplugged fridge and seriously outdated microwave was also in the kitchen. Old brass pots and pans were gathered and sticking out of cardboard boxes in the corner. A painting of cheese and grapes which looked to be 20th century hung on one wall and enormous windows faced the backyard. Hope went up to the windows, which had warped glass in the style of old glass-making standards and looked across the clearing to where Joan's grandfather allegedly saw Nicholas Wexler. 

No Nicholas. 

She smiled and shook her head. She set her things down on the kitchen table and took her camera with her. She was going to head towards the clearing and into the woods to get a better look at the property.

 

At the edge of the clearing right before the woods she could make out graves. The stones were slanted and one was almost entirely stooped over.

"Jackpot," Hope muttered as she went through the serious overgrown vines and branches.

There were fifteen graves there. All over a hundred years old. 

The middle two: EZRA ISAIAH WEXLER 1769 - 1831: Dear Father. ELIZABETH HOOD WEXLER 1770 - 1838: Dear Mama.

The graves flanking them: one was hard to read but said ANNIE WEXLER. CALVIN WEXLER 1822 - 1900. 

The other graves were: BETHANY WEXLER SMYTHE: 1792 - 1828, Our dear Bess. PATRICK SMYTHE 1793 - 1830. CHARLES SMYTHE: Infant 1828. URSULA WEXLER BROWN: Voice of an angel (no years noted). JOHN BROWN 1790 - 1867. TOD BROWN 1829 - 1906. SUSANNAH ILENE WEXLER 1801 - 1895: With Jesus forever. BRADLEY WEXLER 1799 - 1841. BABY GIRL WEXLER, Daughter of Bradley and Susannah. MARIETTE WEXLER GIDDENS 1830 - 1899. 

The fifteenth, and last grave, one set behind Ezra and Elizabeth was a stone about to topple over. It was also almost split down the right side like something had disturbed the grave:

NICHOLAS ALLEN WEXLER 1799 - 1827: Our hearts are broken. 


	3. The Attic

"Oh Nicholas...your stone looks like shit," Hope said, going up to it to see how badly it was cracked. Sure enough it was almost severed down the middle.

"That sucks."

A crow came out of nowhere and landed on one of the headstones the farthest away from her, making her jump.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said, looking at the ominous bird. The irony of a crow landing on a gravestone was too comical.

It was very spooky back there indeed and she could see how Joan and her grandfather might've bought into a story like this. Two of the fifteen headstones had the old fashioned skull motif carved into them, just like in colonial graveyards up in Richmond. Hope forgot she had her digital camera and started to take photos. Each and every stone was being photographed up close and then altogether at a distance. Looking down to go back over her photos she heard a man's voice yell out her name from back at the house.

"Over here!!" she yelled. Must be some guy who knows Joan. She kept going back through the photos and then realized no one came up to her. She turned and there was no one there. Must still be looking for me or deaf, she reasoned.

She turned around to go back to the house and a wind from deeper in the woods picked up and spread the dead leaves. She heard a hoot owl in the tree. She didn't know what was worse; whippoorwills or hoot owls. "Might as well add in a loon for a whole chorus of creepy birds," she laughed to herself.

Making it back to the house she tried to look for the man who called out to her. 

There was no one. 

Hope just shrugged her shoulder and looked back in the distance at the graves. She saw a bunch of birds fly out from the tops of the trees in the area where the graves were. 

"I'm getting hungry," she said and headed back inside to get some of the food she brought.

 

***

Around 4 pm Hope was done taking photos and uploading them to a sharing file that Hans could instantly view. He immediately called her upon seeing the first batch of photos.

"Hope, these are good. What is next?" he asked.

"Well Joan Bishop, the lady you hooked me up with on the property is going to help me look at stuff in the attic. Lots of records up there. Plus, she has a few things herself."

"All good. The place looks like a historical candyland," Hans joked.

"Yeah, yeah. It's quite honestly surreal. I don't know how they kept this place in such good shape on the inside. I mean, it is decrepit, but for the age and how the outside looks...well it's a little too much to take in," she answered.

"Oh yes, quite surreal. I want to visit myself and look forward to doing just that, soon," he said, he sounded distracted, "Oh, Hope, I have to go...Dr. Feeney is here with the Dean's office. I have some important matters to discuss with him."

"Okay, cool. We'll talk tomorrow."

Before Hope was about to hang up, Hans spoke again, "And, Hope...check out photo #56 out there at the cemetery. James said he sees a man in the trees. That kid kills me with this stuff."

"Okay..."

Hans hung up and she went to look at #56. James was probably smoking again, she reasoned.

She sat there and looked, "James, what the hell are you talking about?"

Just then she saw it. 

Between two pines right past Nicholas' grave you could see the image of what looked to be a man from just the chest up coming out of the ground.

"What the fuck?" Hope zoomed in. Her eyes were either just picking up on matrixing, a term she heard James use, or there was something there. The man's features were hard to make out but he was definitely a white male, young, brown hair, pale blue shirt. "This cannot fucking be," Hope said.

And then she heard a knocking.

"Oh come on!" she yelled. This was ridiculous and she just wanted to find Joan and cuss her out. 

More knocking.

Hope ignored it. "Whatever," she reasoned and started gathering her stuff to go back to Joan's. "Whatever!!" she yelled out as she was about to get to the front door, her bag over her shoulder and then she heard a loud BOOM.

She turned around. No one was there. Whoever was knocking was now pissed that she wasn't buying into their ruse.

Hope decided to be a smart aleck and let them know she was here on official business and not for some silly tricks, "Nicholas...save it! I don't believe!"

And then the loudest boom ever reverberated throughout the house, a little plaster falling from the ceiling, narrowly missing Hope's head.

She ran out the door locking the deadbolts quickly and then fumbling with the chain. Was she scared? Nooo. 

Yes.

 

***

Joan took Hope to a southern-style diner in downtown Wexler for a good meal. Joan admitted to being a shit cook and only good at making deserts and iced tea. 

"It's okay," Hope laughed as she gorged on fried chicken, okra, mashed potatoes, and biscuits.

Hope wasn't saying anything to Joan about the photo or the knocks and eventual boom. She wanted to study Joan carefully to see if the woman looked anxious to hear how the illustrious Nicholas Allen Wexler haunted her. Joan didn't let on at all and went in to talking about how Herman has fleas again and about some man she is interested in named Harry who owns a Bait and Tackle shop. Hope decided Joan may or may not be in on it and just decided to show her the stupid photo.

Joan's face fell and she turned white.

"Hope...I have taken hundreds, if not thousands of photos on that property and not one of them has ever turned up anything like this..."

"...Well, let's just say it looks suspicious."

Joan blinked for a moment, "Heavens to Betsy, Hope...how do you not believe?"

Hope got frustrated, "It's weird, okay. I will admit that. But it may just be something called matrixing. Where things come out on digital cameras to form a shape that we already recognize."

"Hope, you have to admit that is a human right there. Hope...that is Nicholas Wexler."

"Listen, I knew you'd say that. You need to meet my co-worker James. But it just...I dunno," Hope paused for a moment and then spoke, "My mother died just a few years ago. I wanted to see her. I wanted her to appear to me. I told her this. My mother actually believed in the afterlife and promised me she'd make contact. Joan, she never did."

Joan understood, "I had the same thing happen with grandfather."

"So you see why I am having trouble here? Not only did my mom not show up in any visions or dreams or anything, but I also really seriously now believe there is nothing left after we die. This is it, Joan. And no photos or the banging noises I heard will change that."

"What banging noises?"

Hope remembered she had forgotten that part. "Oh yeah. I think someone was messing with me up at the house. Knocking and loud banging."

Joan shook her head, "Oh you of little faith...can't you see? That was the same stuff Miss Benita heard. Hope...it's him."

***

The next day Hope and Joan were up in the attic looking through old boxes and hope chests. Both Susannah and her great-granddaughter Benita's hope chests were in the attic. 

"No way!!" Hope exclaimed as she opened Susannah's, with special gloves and a dust mask on. She had Joan document stuff on in a notepad after the woman couldn't effectively type to save her own life, "This is amazing!" Hope pulled out long 1820s funeral dress made of velvet with an empire waist. 

"Oh my God...I never knew this was all here. I mean I looked at some stuff, but not in these here chests," Joan marveled.

The dress was not moth-eaten or tattered in the least. A card was fastened to the back of the dress, 'Susannah Ilene, Nicky's funeral, 1827'. 

"This is the dress Susannah wore to Nicholas' funeral, Joan...this....I can't even talk. I am speechless about the history you have here."

Hope knew a little something about real versus fakes in the textile world, having worked with Dr. Thompson, a master in textile preservation, at William and Mary. This was an authentic 1820s mourning dress, one that Susannah wore for her beloved brother's services. Joan lifted a box out of the chest before Hope could get to it. Inside the box was the black mourning bonnet that went with it. It had a long black veil covering this. A woman of that time would've worn this several times in her life to funerals. Judging by the style, it would've been out-of-date within a decade. 

"Here, put it on," Joan said.

"Oh no, I can't," Hope said. Historic things like this were to admire and not touch.

"C'mon...you're pretty," Joan nudged.

It didn't take much nudging because Hope was already standing up looking at herself in the bonnet in front of an old forgotten mirror. She looked spooky and quickly took the thing off.

"I feel disrespectful," she said.

"Oh yeah, probably not good to do that anyways," Joan agreed. 

Pouring through more items Hope found a little book belonging to Susannah with needlepoint samples and a few drawings that looked like they may have been by Nicholas' hand. Then she got to some notes that were folded up in the book. She opened one and read it:

"Nicky is sick with something no doctor can fix. He gets weaker bye (sic) the day despite the doctor bleeding him. He vomits much of the day and takes in little water. He is being kept in the shack and mama is attending to him. She claims to not care if she gets sick because he is her only son. Mama won't listen and daddy comes to her begging her to just let Nicky be. How can this happen? No one else has this sickness, mama wails. I cannot take it and want to see my brother. I fear, dear Lord, that the sickness will take him." - June 11, 1827

Hope was moved by this and handed it to Joan who then read it and shed a tear. 

"That was certainly uplifting," Hope said. 

She then lifted an envelope that had a lock of hair in it. "Nicky, d. June 15, 1827". It was in Susannah's hand. Hope held the hair up to the light. Nicholas had brown hair with a faint golden tone to it. She put the hair back and closed the trunk.

They spent some more time gathering old diaries, daguerreotypes, and important papers. Cataloging everything was a tedious business, but in order to do it right, one must be patient and document everything, including how the items were found, what other documents they were laying against, and what box they came from.

Again it was 4 pm and Hope and Joan headed downstairs. 

 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay another hour and take photos in the parlor," Hope said, "Then we can get pizza."

"Sounds good," Joan answered.

Hope walked into the parlor and began taking photos, feeling closer to the people in the frames. As she got to the painting of the three sisters she smiled, thinking about Susannah's attachment to her brother. Hope herself had a brother but they were not close enough in age to have anything in common, much less want to hang around each other. As Hope got to the last painting to photograph, Nicholas' painting she stopped dead in her tracks.

There in the middle of the forest in the painting was a man. That painting just two days ago had no one in it. She distinctly remembered so. 

Hope took five photos from different angles. The man was definitely now a part of the painting and did not look added on. 

"This is so bizarre," she muttered. 

Just then she heard a man talking very low and it was coming from the duct work that was covered by a metal grate. She got down on her knees and listened very closely. Where was this coming from in the house?

The deeply male voice kept saying, "It wasn't me...I am not the one...It's wasn't me...I am not the one..........."

"Huh?" Hope said softly. And then she found herself addressing him, "Nicholas? Is that....you?"

There was no noise.

She bent her ear closer to the grate and heard the most ungodly moan she had ever heard in her life.

"Ahhhhh!!!!" she screamed, got up and said to Joan," We're leaving! Now!"

Joan hurriedly helped Hope get her things and they left the house.


	4. Night Visit

At the pizza place that evening Hope came clean and admitted although she doesn't totally believe, she is more open to the fact that something is going on.

"How can you not believe?" Joan was surprised after the latest events.

Hope poured another glass of beer from the pitcher they got, "I think Joan that some one is playing pranks. I mean...I dunno. They are pretty realistic but I am just not buying it. However, I can't explain the photo in the family cemetery."

Joan looked annoyed, "Honey, you gotta listen to me now. I swear on my granddaddy's grave...which by the way, is something I take VERY seriously...that I have no shenanigans or tomfoolery or anything going on. I know of no one, for miles around who could be doing anything cheap like that. Nothing!"

Hope nodded, believing Joan. The woman was a little funny but did not strike Hope as a liar. Plus, she had to admit, the only time she saw people other than Joan was when they went into Wexler to get food. In other words, she would've seen some people stopping by, milling about; the area was vacant. No one had been out there and she had the impression no one ever did. 

"Joan. I just have a problem with this. I mean, I admit it scared the shit out of me. I really really freaked out when I heard that moan. So I ask that you just give me some time." 

Joan nodded, "I will definitely do that. I know you're an educated woman and know of a lot of explanations and things. I watch those ghost shows and know how things can be faked. Really I do. But this...this has been going on for possibly over a hundred years. Miss Benita, my grandfather, the cleaning lady...Bradley Wexler. And you haven't heard what we think was going on with Annie Wexler, Susannah's daughter." 

"Joan, as much as I'd like to hear it, I have found no evidence of what I've came here to find. Dr. Kruse wants an update, but I haven't one to give. I can't just tell him ghost stories and yarns about Nicholas Wexler and his not so normal life circumstances. That isn't history and the clock is ticking." 

Joan looked down. 

Hope felt bad, but had to remember why she was there in the first place. "Joan, I want to stay the night at the big house. I am going to just ask that I bring that portable TV in the guest bedroom at your place for company, background noise, if you don't mind." 

Joan nodded, "Hope, I will help you with anything you need, but I think staying overnight will just give you a heart attack." 

She had had enough of Joan's worry, "Joan, it's okay. I have a cell phone, a car, and my wits. I have a lot of work to do and no time to focus on extra stuff." 

 

***

That night Hope drove up to the house and went inside with the portable TV and all her needed research items. She set up a cot in the kitchen, the coolest part of the house with the least dust. For some reason the kitchen just seemed to be the most modern, less fussy place. She couldn't imagine sleeping in the parlor with all the portraits and mouldering books. And she definitely wasn't about to sleep in any of the rooms. The brief glimpses Joan showed her of each room were too macabre. The original beds and some mattresses were still there. Wexler babies were probably born on some of them. Only Miss Benita's room and one other were a little more modernized; and that meant they reached the 20th century with someone in them. 

Hope learned that Benita basically stayed there by her lonesome after most of the family died off a moved away. The Wexler name died with her. Annie, Susannah's oldest child, had many children and grandchildren, but they moved on with different names and family lineages. Joan had told her once that Annie married a man in Charleston and never really returned to Wexler House until she was much older. Apparently it nearly broke her to see the place because something there troubled her. 

On the way home from the pizza place, Joan said briefly that Annie had a special relationship with Nicholas. She could not help but tell Hope this story, despite Hope just wanting to move on from all the ghost talk. Joan told Hope she needed to hear this. She went on to say Annie knew Nicholas because he was alive during the first six years of her life. After he died, Susannah would find Annie playing with someone who wasn't there. All the other kids were leery of Annie's behavior and shunned her. She ended up fairing well, however, and married Joseph Courtney, a wealthy merchant's son in Charleston. Annie never returned to Wexler house again, except for that one last time. Susannah was always having to go to Charleston to see her. 

"Okay, Joan...thanks," Hope obliged her by listening to this. She didn't know what to do with this information but figured it had to account for something. 

Or not. 

Settling down all her stuff in the kitchen, she brought the TV with her into the parlor. She looked for a place to plug it in and found an exposed socket that looked like it came from Thomas Edison's house. She plugged it in and listened to the background noise. 

"Now what to attack?" She noted there were no 'ghosts' or weird things going on. So far so good. She was tired and sat down for a bit, watching the evening news talk about some local petty crime ring.

 

Hope doesn't know when she dozed off but she did at some point. She was sitting on the long couch on top of the white sheets when she heard someone come up behind her. She was too tired to move or wake herself but she was trying to move with every ounce of her being. The lights flickered on and off and the TV turned off. All she could see were the Wexler family looking out from their paintings into the direction that someone was approaching. She kept fighting, trying to wake up but couldn't.

She smelled something like lavender but it had a more masculine quality to it. Still struggling she was able to make out a male figure crouching before her, smoothing back her long blonde hair. 

It didn't take her long to realize it was Nicholas. Or someone like Nicholas, she still held fast. He wasn't very clear but she could make out dark hollowed eyes, full lips. She wanted to scream but couldn't find her voice. She saw his full lips curl into a soft smile.

"Help..." she tried to scream.

He just looked at her sideways and his other hand touched her lips. She felt a coldness that chilled her deep into the bone.

"Nicholas...stop..." 

He was still touching her lips when she felt her body shake free and she kicked herself awake, screaming.

She sat up violently and looked around the room. The TV was on, lights were fine and there was no sign of anyone. She put her head in her hands and just looked down at the floor, "He visited me. He actually visited."

With that she stood up, "Nicholas. I don't know what you want with me but I need you to not scare me anymore..."

And then the knocking started from an unknown origin. Hope stood there wide-eyed with her eyes towards the ceiling. Slowly making her way over to an 18th century card table, she bent a little and tapped back exactly how "Nicholas'" tap was.

"Is that you, Nicholas?" she asked.

One knock.

"Do you mean to hurt me?"

No knock.

That was certainly good. "Am I safe here?"

Three knocks. Hope felt insane but relieved.

"Do you need me to help you?"

A chorus of many knocks came, sounding all around her. 

"Okay, okay!!" this unnerved her, but she got the idea. She talked to herself, "Of course, all ghosts want your fucking help, don't they?" 

"Nicholas...I need your help, too," she said.

One knock came back. "Okay" is what she believed this to be, or yes.

Then she thought to herself, if Hans wants her to find proof of Lincoln visiting, that was one thing. But Lincoln was not a known figure until well over thirty years after Nicholas died. She'd have to think of something else.

"Nicholas. This house is important to you, right?"

A knock.

"This is crazy," she muttered. "I need to save your house. We can help each other."

A knock.

"Show me signs and I will follow them."

No knocks sounded. She then thought maybe that was a mistake, asking for a sign. A sign could be anything from a flood of locusts to a full-body apparition, if the scenes from horror movies she watched as a kid were of any consideration.

Just then she heard a door upstairs open. And then footsteps. 

"Oh my God," she panicked. She closed her eyes and covered her face. This is not happening. I don't want to see it.

A light bulb blew behind her. Her heart was about to come out of her chest. Whatever was coming down the stairs was now making it's way across the floorboards to her. Lavender smell again. She heard a voice whispering but she couldn't make out what was being said. 

Something was now directly in front of her, and it was half a foot taller than her and very cold. 

"Oh, this was a mistake," she whined, still covering her face.

"Hope," the voice reverberated softly off the walls several times. "It's not me. It wasn't me...not me. Not me. Not me. Not me..."

"Stop..."

"Hope. Hope. Hope...."

With one hand she reached out from her face and felt in front of her. She felt a silk black coat with a full body in it. A cold, but full body. She was a little relieved because he didn't feel like a bag of bones. He felt like he wasn't sunken in and gross, which was what she was fearing. 

"Woods. My sister."

"Okay....." Hope was trembling. 

"Hope............"

She couldn't bear it any longer and had to open her eyes. Slowly, very slowly she opened one, scared absolutely to death at what she might find before her.

She heard an intake of breath and a door slam upstairs. He was gone.


	5. A Seance

Hope was no longer capable of denying Nicholas' presence. Although she didn't directly see him, except during her dream, she felt him and this sealed the deal for her. She wasn't going to just chalk all of this up to hired prankers attributed to Joan or any kind of coincidence. She heard, felt, and smelled him. She knew there was no way anyone could have cleared the room as quickly as he did unless they had supernatural powers. Denial was just not going to work anymore.

Still in a little bit of a daze Hope ascended the stair case and went from door to door looking in each room. No one was there. 

She never thought to ask nor was told which room belonged to Nicholas. It couldn't have been Benita's room; that belonged to Susannah and her wretched husband. A room near it was obviously used as a nursery based on the drawings on the wall which were done by a child's hand. She felt the need to know which room was his, but none of them had anything distinct about them.

"Nicholas? Where was your room?" 

No answer.

What room did she hear him come from just a short while ago? She wondered where he went when he wasn't busy haunting people. Did he go to his grave and lay there? She quickly cleared that thought our of her head because it gave her the creeps. 

"Nicholas? Do you hear me? Can you knock?"

No answer. 

This was frustrating. I guess he has a special "time", Hope thought to herself. Just then her cell phone in her pocket rang and reported incoming texts at the same time. About 10 texts. 

"What in the world?" 

She answered the phone, "Hope!" she heard Joan exclaim on the other end. "I've been trying you for twenty minutes! I was about to head out the door and drive over!"

"Calm down, Joan. What happened?"

Joan calmed herself, "Ernie Johnson, a friend of mine was driving back home and passed the House...he said he could see all the lights in the house flickering on and off at the same time! Hope...there is no master control light switch in that home!"

"Joan...he made contact. It was Nicholas!"

"What?!"

"Yes! He talked to me. He wants my help with something. He told me to go into the woods and mentioned his sister. I have no idea which sister he means, but I am thinking Susannah."

"Hope, you need to come back home. It's getting too crazy now. I regret bringing you into all of this."

"No no no, Joan! I can't turn back. This is too much. He needs me and for reasons I can't explain right now, I want to help him. I feel like he will help me...in fact he told me so."

Joan was quiet. The tables had now turned and Hope was interested and Joan was skittish. 

"Joan, you don't need to worry about me. He isn't going to hurt anyone."

As Hope was standing on the landing she saw one of the doors open out the corner of her eye. Slowly turning her head she could feel her heart now racing. 

"Hope?" Joan asked.

"Wait a second..." Hope said, "Joan...a door just opened."

"Oh God."

"Joan, which one of these rooms belonged to Nicholas when he...lived....here?"

Joan answered, "The very first door on the right."

It was exactly that door that was now opened. 

An incredible static sound kept Hope from hearing Joan. "Joan?!" she called. Nothing but static.

Slowly but surely Hope made her way to stand in the doorway. It was just one of the rooms she had briefly stared into before. There were boxes everywhere and an old bed which had only a crude hay mattress on it. "Nicholas, don't jump out at me please..." she said, her voice shaking.

On the bed was a book that looked to be more than 200 years old. It was brown and very brittle looking and had twine tied around it several times. The initials NW were on it and a flower stem with a long-lost bud was tied into the twine. 

Hope picked it up, "Nicholas...is this your diary?"

A knock.

"Do you want me to read it?"

A knock.

She sat down and undid the twine. The diary started with April 4, 1817 and had an account of how Nicholas fell in love with a Spaniard's daughter he saw at a marketplace in Philadelphia. His father refused to let him court her as she was Spanish and the Wexler's simply could not mix with them. Nicholas was despondent and felt his father was wrong for this. He went on to say that his father was stuck in his ways and he longed to be free of them. He also said his father expected him to be a lawyer, which he vowed to never be. Lying was not an art he wished to make money off of. Nicholas wanted to be a painter and travel to Rome and Paris. His mother somewhat supported this but kept her thoughts to herself when Ezra became too burdened by this talk of a romantic vagabond life.

Hope sat there for an hour reading the almost completely faded text. She was happy there was light in that room or she wouldn't have been able to make anything out. She wanted to stay in Nicholas' room, as he invited her into it.

She loved Nicholas' handwriting. It was beautiful and artistic. It reminded her of some of the best fonts the internet had to offer, except his script was the real deal. She also got an insight into how innocent his mind really was. He wasn't weird like she was initially led to believe. Just not of his time. He would've done well in a more open-minded era. 

March 10, 1821:

"My little sister is now married. She is married to a man who is evil beyond reproach. This is a forced marriage, angled by my father to increase the Wexler fortune and acquire a small measly portion of his cousin's newsprint and publishing business. Bradley Wexler is a foul man. The thought that he is going to be my sister's husband boils the very blood that courses through my body. I do not wish my sister to be a widow, but I wish Bradley to not join our family. The only way to stop him is death."

Hope shook her head, "Nice job Nicholas." If anyone had read this passage around the time that he was being accused of murder, they would have handwritten proof about his feelings.

Once she got to the next page she noticed entries were torn out. Basically the rest of 1821 to 1825 was gone. The next entry was a drawing of beautiful woman with just the name "Nancy" under it.

"Nancy Bourdeaux?" she muttered. Nancy was quite beautiful with black hair and a long neck, which was the ideal at the time. It was obvious Nicholas was in love with her because poetry filled the next couple of pages.

At the end of the book was a strand of braided human hair which looked very old. It was affixed to the back of the book with some kind of 19th century "tape" and it said "Annie, b. 1821". That was Susannah's first-born and probably the only "entry" left from 1821 after his sister married the dastardly Bradley Wexler.

She looked at the time; it was 1 am. She texted Joan goodnight and then looked at some of the other texts that came in. Four of them were from James.

CALL ME  
CALL ME NOW, YOU COW  
CALL ME NOW, MEOW  
CALL ME CALL ME CALL MEEEE

"That peckerhead," she said shaking her head. James was six years younger than her but they could be each others' best company.

It was 1 am, and she knew he was still up.

"Yes James?" she said as soon as he picked up.

"Girl.....girl. I am coming this coming weekend to see you."

"What? Why? I should be leaving soon." She knew this was not the case as everything was now delayed by the ghost activity and by her not finding anything of historic value. The college would not be interested in the family history of the Wexlers unless something more significant happened there.

"Please, beeotch...you are so not leaving."

"Screw you."

"Nope. You're not my type. I am coming with Cecily and we're going to set up a seance. I did some research, too, ya know."

Oh no. Cecily was a fruitcake "Ghost Channeler/Psychic Medium" who dressed like a junior edition of Joan, except unlike Joan, she was really crazy.

"Hell no. We are not treating this house like it's a B movie set."

"Oh yes we are. And you will have fun. What fun is studying old dead people if you're not going to try and contact them?"

At that moment Hope was in a dilemma. Did she tell James what she already experienced or did she withhold it, thus pissing Nicholas off somehow when Cecily tried to pull him out of the great beyond? 

"James...she can't come here. Just you."

For some reason James quickly changed his tune and agreed that Cecily should stay home. He said he didn't want her with him anyways because he was tired of the smell of her clove cigarettes. 

"Alright, see you soon," Hope said and hung up the phone.

 

What she didn't know was James had every intention on still bringing Cecily with him and knew Hope was too nice to tell them to leave.

 

***

 

That weekend James and Cecily came by Joan's first. Hope shot daggers at James behind Cecily's back as Joan and Cecily went into the kitchen to get some Sangria and talk about their experiences with drawing henna designs on their hands.

"Is that Cecily's real mom?" James joked. "See...these two needed to meet."

"James, she's not as weird as Cecily."

"Uh huh. So when do we get to go to THE House?"

 

After their short drive, Hope turned around and warned them, "Okay. Don't do anything to upset the stuff in the house."

She still had not told James about all that happened. She knew both he and Cecily would go off the deep end and start playing, "Let's Hold a Seance!" once they knew. The moment James and Cecily walked in he went nuts over the "historic ambiance" and Cecily immediately walked to the end of the staircase and just looked up it.

"You totally held out on me, Hope! This place is a museum!" he exclaimed, picking up a metal toy horse that was on a table in the entryway.

"James, I need to see what research you found," she said, cutting straight to the point. James probably did more family research than she had done.

"Oh yeah...I brought the file with me. Seems like there was a murderer living here," he said looking excitedly into the file and withdrawing some records he got from the County. He must have stopped at the library.

Hope was becoming distracted by Cecily who was still staring up the staircase. Cecily was allegedly half Haitian and her mother and grandmother taught her the art of "conjuring". She didn't get along with anyone but James, who pretty much worshiped her odd style and knack for entertaining him.

"Cecily?" Hope asked her. "What's wrong?" She immediately knew that either Cecily could sense something or she was just trying to be dramatic, thereby looking like she was legit. 

"Hope, did you ever talk to the man who is standing up here about why it is that he is here?" James dropped the folder and Hope walked up to Cecily with wide eyes. She slowly looked up the staircase, following the dark faded design until she got to the second floor. 

She saw nothing.

Hope's first instinct before everything was to distrust Cecily. She now knew of Nicholas' presence and maybe Cecily truly knew of it, too. She was still careful with Cecily, not knowing what was just a show, helped along by pre-researched materials. 

"Um..." Hope wasn't sure she wanted to tell Cecily what happened. 

"Hope?"

James was up next to them looking up the stairs, "I don't see anything," he whispered, his voice shaky.

"There is something here yes, and I am not sure what he wants yet..." Hope would only divulge.

"What does he look like, Cecily?" James interrupted.

Cecily answered, "Auburn hair...no lighter than that. Like a light brown, but red. He has dark eyes. Black frock coat like you see in one of those Jane Austen movies..."

Hope was cautious about what Cecily was saying; again she could've read somewhere what Nicholas looked like.

"...he is just looking at me. He's now looking at you, Hope."

Hope couldn't see Nicholas. "Why can't I see you, Nicholas?" she called up the stairs.

Cecily and James looked at her. "You know who I'm seeing?" Cecily said. Hope had mistepped. 

Looking back up after Hope didn't offer any explanation, Cecily noted, "He's gone."

 

Hope was seriously wanting to avoid telling James and Cecily everything that was going on, but she knew she had to. "Look, I don't want anyone coming around here shoving thermal cameras and shit in his face. This is weird enough as it is and has changed everything I believe about life and death," Hope warned them.

"Look, I am only going to stay one day here," Cecily responded, "I don't make it a habit of staying in places where spirits are restless. That up there is a restless spirit." Cecily had her arms crossed and looked down for a second, "Nevertheless, I would like to hold a seance and see what it is he wants."

 

An hour later they were sitting in the parlor with all the lights off attempting to get Nicholas to show up. Hope couldn't believe she agreed to this and kept muttering "Sorry" beforehand, out of earshot of her two guests, hoping Nicholas would hear her and not be mad. She heard no response from him and considered that he may not be bothered at all.

The group joined hands. Cecily lit a special kit of candles she had and put a voodoo talisman of some sort in the middle of the table. James looked excited but could see that Hope looked intense, worried about how this would go down. He squeezed her hand and she smiled weakly.

The seance began with Cecily closing her eyes and ordering everyone else to close their eyes as well and that the circle of hands not be broken.

"I summon forth the spirit of Nicholas Allen Wexler, spirit of this house, body no longer attached to his soul, free to move around and speak through me..."

Nothing but a hoot owl outside which sounded just as scary.

Cecily called out for him three times in three different ways. It was on the third summoning that Hope and James felt Cecily's hands go ice cold. Hope was pulled closer to Cecily by a force a little stronger than Cecily's thin arms could render.

Then Cecily spoke with a slight change in her voice, signifying Nicholas had taken over, "Here...."

Cecily had told Hope earlier to ask questions of Nicholas and James was recording the entire thing with the digital recorder he used at seminars. 

Hope cleared her throat, "Nicholas...we want to know...."

Nicholas: "Yes."

"We...or I want to know, what you want me to do?"

Cecily gripped Hope's hand tighter, "What we spoke of last night, Hope. Go out to the woods. Find my sister."

Hope had kept precisely what Nicholas had said to her from Cecily and James just to see if the seance was a scam or real. It was definitely real.

"What do you mean, find your sister?" She knew the graves were out there and she was going to pull the plug on the entire thing if Nicholas told her to dig up one of his sisters.

Nicholas: "The box. Tiny. Metal...." then Cecily started unintelligible whispering.

"Nicholas, I can't hear that last part," Hope said.

Nicholas: "Metal box. It is all I know of it. It has something in it. I need that something. I need it. Hope. I didn't do it. It wasn't me."

"Nicholas, I believe you already...is that not enough?"

No one could see Cecily now but her face was twisting into a weird grimace.

Nicholas: "Clear me, Hope. Clear me here. My family believes as Bradley believed. Hope."

"Okay, Nicky," She was surprised she called him that and she felt Cecily pull her even closer. Cecily opened her eyes as Nicholas and looked at Hope, her eyes still closed. 

He smiled at her through Cecily. And the seance ended.

 

A moment later Cecily was burning a some sort of thatch, letting smoke drift through the house. "I am cleaning the place now, to make sure it was only Nicholas who came back."

They left the house that night and went back to Joan's to let Joan hear the recording. The recorder didn't catch a thing. 

As Hope was heading to bed Cecily approached her in the hallway.

"Hope, I've only done three of those seances before. And one was with my mother present. I am not used to a ghost as powerful as Nicholas is."

"It's alright. It was very helpful," Hope answered.

"Hope. When he was speaking through me I could feel as though he was longing for you...like a little more than just a friend, if I can be quite honest."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he is attached to you now. He told me that he is grateful to you and he wanted me to touch your face. I held back doing so because I just felt a little funny. You saw how he kept pulling you close."

Hope was speechless.

"Be very careful. He is good...I feel confident saying that, but he needs to move on. He has been in that house for too long. Don't let him try and linger."

"Cecily, how can I do that? I mean, this is a world I know nothing about. He wants me to find some little metal box in the woods beyond the clearing. If you haven't already noticed when pulling up to the house those woods are quite extensive."

"You have to try, Hope. James and I will help you look tomorrow before we leave. Restless spirits like that need to go on. He's got to move on. It's time."

"I don't doubt that, Cecily."

Cecily smiled at hope and went to the last spare bedroom where James was already sleeping.

Hope sat and thought about all of this. What could possibly be in a metal box in the woods that could help Nicholas. Why couldn't he have just told Benita to look for this stuff when she was alive? Was she reluctant to do so? They had a pretty extensive system of speaking to one another. It all didn't make sense. 

Some things would have to come to light for her to understand.


	6. The Box

That next morning Hope, James, and Cecily headed out to the woods. They brought an old metal detector that Joan had in her house hoping this would assist them in locating a metal box.

"This is where that creepy photo was taken," James said, reminding himself, as they got to the grave site.

"Yes, this is exactly where it was," Hope answered and felt a chill. She looked at the graves but luckily saw no one sticking out of the ground.

James turned the metal detector on and it made a woooo noise. Starting their search at the beginning of the clearing and on back they tried to follow an old worn footpath. An hour into it all they found was an old soup can and were getting annoyed at fact the sheer size of the woods was making this task tedious.

"This is crap," James vented, "Why didn't Nicholas just tell us something more useful. Like where the heck this shit is located exactly? It could be anywhere out here!"

"I know, James. I guess he doesn't know exactly," Hope said. She was annoyed that James was annoyed but also annoyed because the task at hand was so time-consuming.

"Cecily, we need another seance...let's ask him more direct stuff!" James said.

Hope was beginning to feel like this could be a lost cause. Making matters worse is the fact she had totally gone off the beaten track and not provided a good update to Hans, who had just left for vacation in Aruba with his family. She needed to put the ghost business aside or Hans was going to tell her to pay Joan out of her own pocket for expenses, instead of letting the college do it. Hans last email to Hope was yesterday warning her about this and telling her she needed to visit Sharon in archives at the library. Hope was going to have to eventually let go of all this Nicholas play-time and go back to pure research. She was drifting from being a historian to being a ghost hunter/sleuth.

Hope started to wonder some things, "Cecily, why do you think you can see Nicholas and James and I cannot?"

Cecily nodded as she kept trudging along, "I don't know exactly. Some people see, some people hear, some people feel...I guess it's just based on the person."

"Oh c'mon, Cecily," James started in, "You are a specialist, you don't know why Hope and I can't see him?"

"I can hear him and I've felt him," Hope said, "But I've had my eyes closed when he was right in front of me. I've only seen him in a dream, I believe."

"Feeling him is the most significant," Cecily said. "Some folk think it's a lot for a spirit to materialize into something solid. It takes a lot of power and will to bring that about."

Hope was lost in thought a bit. She wanted to see him and see what it is that Cecily could see, yet she did admit being able to touch him was both incredibly frightening and yet amazing."

"What does he look like?" James asked, taking the words out of Hope's mouth. James had not see the portrait upstairs yet and Hope wondered what Nicholas looked like in spirit form.

"Let's rest," Cecily said, not answering the question yet. They sat down on some large rocks and Cecily brought out her clove cigarettes.

"Oh gawd!" James exclaimed. He hated the smell.

Cecily took a drag and ignored James, "To you all's question...he looks like a person who is being filtered through something. Like he's displaced. Or not grounded."

James, waved his hand through the air and dramatically coughed, "God, this smoke!"

Cecily went on, "It's like he looks like a normal person and all...not scary, really....but not right."

"What do you mean, 'not right'," Hope said. 

"Like he's confused or lost....or even better, caught somewhere," Cecily answered. "That is the best way I can explain it."

James was already heading up a small rise up ahead when he yelled, "Hey you guys! Come look at this!"

Hope and Cecily got up quickly and headed to where James was. There before him was a little hut sticking out of a mound of earth. It looked like a children's play house constructed years ago.

"I'm going inside!" James said and ran up to it. He tried to go in but the thing looked like it was about to collapse. He could only crawl in a little bit but emerged with mud on him, "There could be fucking rattlesnakes in there. Give me the metal detector." 

Hope had been left holding it once they all stopped for some rest. She handed the detector to James.

He swept the hut and the metal detector went off once he hit a more collapsed section of the hut. It made a woo woooo noise and James told Hope to come hold the detector while he pulled some muck and mud out of the way in the collapsed area. "Bingo!!" he yelled and pulled out a wrought iron box with the initials "S.W.I." stamped into it.

"Susannah Ilene Wexler..." Hope said.

"No shit," James said. He remembered the family names from his research. 

James tried to fool with the box but as it was getting later in the day they decided to head back with the box in their possession.

"Thank God we found this damn thing, ladies, because I need a drink," James announced.

"Not yet," Hope said, as they walked briskly through the woods and back towards the house. "We need to pry this thing open and see what's in it."

 

They got back to the house and Cecily admitted they probably should stay just one more day. "But that is it, Hope. I have stuff to do at home." Hope smiled and was happy they weren't leaving her yet. She may need Cecily's help in case the contents of the box proved to be useless.

They sat down in the parlor to get to work on the box. Cecily had a Swiss Army knife and she pried open the box. Inside was a little wooden whistle, well-preserved, a carved figurine of a little girl, and wrapped in a faded floral cloth were some diary entries. 

The missing entries from Nicholas' diary in his room.

"I have to read these..." Hope said and left the parlor and rushed up to Nicholas' room. James and Cecily followed her. 

"Why up here?" Cecily asked as they all went into Nicholas' tiny room. 

"Let me do this here.....alone," Hope said. She couldn't explain it but she felt like she needed to be alone with the entries and to think. Cecily and James left her alone.

 

Hope read the entries, but was having more problems making out the words. The metal box was probably in that shack for many years and while the elements seemed to have been kept at bay by the metal box, they were still in worse shape then then diary Nicholas had in his room.

"Nicholas...I can't read these. They are hard to read..."

She heard a faint knock. Before this would've scared her but now she felt relieved.

"I am going to try...can I take them with me somewhere? Somewhere that I can read them better?"

It took a while but she faintly detected another knock. 

Putting the entries back into the box she realized she needed to get these to a professional, someone who could restore old parchments and letters. She knew of such a guy at another college near Richmond. Someone she didn't really want to see. Her ex-fiancee Trevor was skilled in lifting old inks and words off long-faded documents. The FBI actually used his services in cold cases involving old paperwork that needed to be restored for their files. She didn't want to see him again, but this was important to her. Since Hans was on vacation and she could have this done while she resumed her search for proof of a Lincoln visit, she saw no reason to hold back. This was strictly business.

She stood up to leave but the light in the bulb dimmed so much that you could only make out a faint speck in the filament.

She closed her eyes almost instinctively and surprised herself by not heading to the door. 

The ancient floorboards moved under the weight of something, creaking as it made it's way to Hope. 

She was facing the door as she felt a cold presence behind her. 

"Nicky..." she said softly, her voice only quavering a little bit.

She heard his voice come from everywhere in the room, "Hope....Hope," the words echoed over one another.

He walked in front of her and she held out her hand. Her heart was beating like a thud in her ears but she didn't break for the door. She had something calming her, telling her it was alright and that she shouldn't be afraid.

Hope found a cotton-gloved hand take hers and slowly wind it's masculine fingers under her palm, feeling her fingers and lightly caressing the top of her hand with a thumb. She could feel a coolness coming from this being now, no longer cold. She knew this was Nicholas, but still would not open her eyes. For some reason she couldn't face him and for another he preferred to touch her.

The fingers then interlaced with her own and brought her hand down, holding it for a brief moment. 

When he let her go Hope reached out and ran her fingers up his silken frock coat and gasped as she felt the cool skin on his neck. He definitely did not feel like someone who had any life in them. 

Just as she was going to move her hand up his face to explore his lips, she heard James bounding up the stairs, heard Nicholas whine and the light popped back on. James swung open the door, "Girl hurry up! We are hungry!"

"James!!" Hope yelled, "Damn it!"

James just stood there and then he looked around the room. It felt cold to him and then he looked at Hope.

"Oh..." he said, looking awkward all of a sudden, it dawning on him, "Were you and Nicholas 'communicating'?" He then started laughing.

She stormed past him telling him to follow her into Benita's room. She showed him the portrait of Nicholas. He had never seen it before and was probably thinking she was daft.

"That," she said, "Is him."

James looked at the portrait, "Oh. Ohh," he said, admiring it.

"Cecily sees THAT clearly and I feel him," she said. James was definitely impressed but looked moody.

"Damn it!," he said, crossing his arms, "Why don't I get to feel him?"

"James...now you can put a face to all this."

"Well if you ask me, he needs to put a face to all this," James said pointing at different parts of his body in quick succession.

"You're an ass, but I am pleased to know you get it," she rolled her eyes. 

"So, we need to videotape him sometime..." James said. "...could be really cool. A ghost porno could be made."

"Come on let's go," Hope said, pushing him out of the room. As Hope was about to completely leave the room she stopped and went back in. Taking her camera phone ouf of her pocket she took a quick photo of the portrait and then quickly cropped it until it looked perfectly balanced. She smiled and left the room. That night, back at Joan's she looked at the photograph of the portrait several times. Even then she felt as though he was really looking back at her, even from a cell phone picture. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, thinking of how intimate he was in his room with her. Cecily was definitely right about the attraction.

 

That night Hope slept fitfully. She kept tossing and turning, punching her pillow. When she finally drifted off she dreamt that she was in the clearing alone on a sunny day. She was wearing the mourning dress that Susannah had in her hope chest. A blurry image was coming towards her and as it approached she could see clearly for the very first time Nicholas standing before her. He spoke clearly to her with a voice that had a slight southern accent. A tidewater Carolinian accent from his time.

"Hope, you are beautiful."

She blushes but cannot find words to speak. She struggles to talk.

As he comes closer she can do nothing but stare at how handsomely featured he is. His hazel eyes are soft and have more life to them than she has ever seen. He holds her close and tells her he is visiting her in this dream and it is all as real as she wants it to be.

Hope is breathing hard in her sleep. 

"Thank you for finding the box...read what is there. Read."

She tries to say she will but cannot find the words. He takes her face between his hands and very softly grazes her lips with his, but not kissing her. He stops and talks into her mouth, "Hope, save me and I will save you..."


	7. Research

That next morning James and Cecily left to go back to Richmond. Cecily had asked to be let back into Wexler House so she could "bless" the place. Hope let her in and Cecily took ten minutes going through the place. When she was done she stared up the staircase to nothing Hope nor James could see. Cecily turned away and then looked quickly again up the stairs, like she was listening to someone tell her something, and then she moved on.

"I'm finished, let's go," she said.

Everyone hugged goodbye and Cecily and Joan exchanged cell phone numbers. James rolled his eyes and he and Cecily got into the car and left.

 

In the car James and Cecily spoke. "So did Mr. Nicky make his appearance?" James asked.

"Oh yeah," Cecily said, turning down the music James was playing. "At the top of the stairs like he always is."

“Goodness gracious,” James said.

“Eyes boring into me every time. It’s unnerving.”

“You think he’s good?” James asked.

“Let’s just say he didn’t try to hurt any of us and that is a good sign. Other than that, I cannot account for anything more of his character. Other than being infatuated with Hope.”

***

Hope went to the Blue Creek County Library finally and met with Sherry, the head of archives. Sherry was a heavy-set woman who looked like she was leery of anyone from “up north”. She told Hope that the Wexler House is definitely haunted, without Hope revealing anything about Nicholas. “My mama said she saw someone look out from a window on the top floor one time when she visited on a field trip as a little girl. It was definitely the ghost they say roams the place.”

Hope nodded and acted like she didn’t know anything. Sherry took her back to Archives and walked to a section with the oldest and darkest binded books and records.

“This right here is the Wexler family archive. It begins in 1825 and ends in 1900. Here’s the gloves.”

Sherry handed Hope some cloth gloves to keep her from contaminating the papers. She thanked Sherry and went about her research.

The oldest book had the first entries about the Wexlers:

Entry 1 - Mar. 1825, old Knights homestead – Family of Master Ezra and Missus Eliz. Wexler start building a wood and brick house on the south east corner of the prop. The family is from Philadelphia, Penn. Master Nicholas Wexler is only male heir. Ezra and Eliz. have three daughters, three son-in-laws, two grandchildren. The men live on the property overseeing the building process. The women and children stay in town. 

Oct. 1825, Wexler house is done.

Entry 2 – a letter from Rev. Hale to Mr. Ezra Wexler, dated June 15, 1825:

Dear Sir,

Church leaders have reviewed your request. Our inquiry into your son Nicholas was of course without merit. You have been so kind to our community and have given us so much. We gently request that you forgive us for such a transgression. Your family is welcome in our community and we look forward to seeing you in church.

Sincerely,  
Rev. Wilfred Hale

Entry 3 – a letter from a woman named Sara Rolfe in Philadelpha, Penn. To Rev. Hale, dated June 20, 1825:

Dear Rev,

Your reluctance to apply yourself to this matter is most telling. Perhaps if your son was murdered you would feel as I do, but I regretfully discover here that the Wexler fortune has stayed your hand. Nicholas Wexler is a murderer! He ran my son Percy through with a dagger just 5 mo ago. I would ask that you warn any fair woman in that town to not have any dealings with Mr. Nicholas as he is not to be trusted. He is idle and a swindler of good men. The Wexlers would have you believe he is innocent but he is not I tell you! I have nothing else for you now. At this late hour it appears you have made your decision to ignore justice. Please guard your town, if you can.

Sincerely,

Sara Rolfe

Entry 4 - was a letter from none other than Nicholas himself to Rev. Hale.

Reverend,  
I appreciate you moving forward with this and not burdening my family with this matter of murder. I cannot tell you how many times I have had to answer questions about this horrible act. Never have I killed a man or thought to kill a man. Must I say in strict confidence that I feel as though someone in my very family has been feeding this lie? I do not want to say who, but if I simply must I will. Please tell me if Sara Rolfe sends you any more letters. I realize she has been appealing to you but I cannot tell you how sorry I am that her son is dead; but I must also assure you I did not do it.

Nicholas Allen Wexler

 

Hope poured through more documents, letters, and even found an article from a magazine on the matter. From what Hope gathered, the Wexlers spent a small fortune trying to cover up a murder for Nicholas. It appears Nicholas and his sisters and mother were the most vocal in clearing his name. His father was the most generous with cash to cover anything the town of Knightsville wanted, as a gesture to keep them from arresting his son. At the same time there seemed to be a rift between Nicholas and his father, as later documents came forward. There was one paper written by a local teacher on the problems the family faced. It appears Ezra was upset that he had to pull his entire family away to South Carolina because of Nicholas. He was mainly upset about his family’s reputation. Ezra also seemed to be close to Bradley Wexler, although it seemed Bradley’s money came into play a lot more than fond feelings. Hope read that Bradley and Nicholas loathed each other, which was something she already knew. It was from a printed interview from Southern Ladies Weekly, a journal of goings on. They interviewed Benita back in the 1940s and she told a torrid tale of how her great-great grandfather Ezra thought his son to be a fool and a dreamer. Nicholas loved to paint, write, draw, and was closest to the women in the family. Bradley liked to smoke, drink, and hold meetings with businessmen. Ezra was kept in these meetings and a part of the fortune his cousin had from a printing business. When Bradley had asked in Pennsylvania for Susannah’s hand in marriage, Nicholas raised hell complaining that his sister was not going to marry the likes of Bradley Wexler. Benita even said Nicky tried to take his sister away from Bradley and go out west. Susannah wouldn’t go, stating it was best that she just bear it and keep the family in money.

After that, Benita explained, Bradley turned completely on Nicholas. In 1823, two years after he and Susannah married, he tried to have Nicholas beaten up. Apparently Susannah heard this was going to happen and pleaded with her husband to not hurt her brother. Bradley beat Susannah severely one night and she somehow made it out of her home with her two children and to her parents. Ezra almost turned her away stating it was her duty to abide by her husband. Nicky flew into a rage and said he would kill Bradley with his own hands. That never happened. Two years later, in 1825 a man named Percy Rolfe, who had business dealings with Bradley, turned up stabbed to death in an alley in Philadelphia. Bradley was quick to tell the authorities there that he last saw Nicholas with Percy and even concocted a story that Nicholas owed Percy money. The murder allegations flew wide open from there until Ezra, at his wife’s begging, had to pay some local judge off and move south to the Carolinas.  
Hope couldn’t believe what she was reading. She wondered how Benita knew so much. Two things could’ve happened; either Benita grew up hearing family stories, or she heard this from Nicholas himself. Hope wondered if the last one was the case, but Joan told her Benita didn’t get much of anywhere talking to Nicholas. He was very vague and one-dimensional with her, always claiming he “didn’t do it.” 

It also appears the community of Knightsville, now Wexler, whispered about Nicholas a lot behind his back. No one wanted to upset the Wexlers so they never completely approached them about the matter. Whether Ezra wanted to or not, he paid the community off to keep Elizabeth and his girls happy about Nicholas. Bradley apparently wasn’t happy and Susannah’s relationship with Nicholas angered him.

Hope was certain that Bradley probably engineered the entire murder and accusations. He must’ve been incredibly incensed that the family had to pick up and move south as an offshoot of his evil. Bradley probably hated the Wexler women for their insistence on keeping Nicholas safe, and he probably beat the tar out of Susannah because of this.

Then Hope found a story about Annie Wexler, Susannah and Bradley’s first born. She was close to Nicholas and was thought to be mentally ill. Apparently she heard voices and talked to no one. This activity picked up years after Nicholas had died and townspeople would see her playing in the road near their house as if she had someone at her side. In 1839 Annie marries a businessman, Joseph Courtney, and moves to Charleston. She has a child named Alfred in 1842 and then a few others after that. The oldest child goes on with the family business once Joseph dies. Not much is ever reported about her after that except when she returned as an extremely old lady to say goodbye to Wexler House.

 

Hope put the papers, books, and letters up after notating what was in them and taking a few photos. Tomorrow she was going to tackle the next set of items from the 1800s regarding the history of the house. So far in the papers she saw there was no reference of Abraham Lincoln or any other famous politician visiting. 

She wondered if Nicky’s diary entries would help her and if the diaries Joan had that Susannah wrote could be of some use, too. She was more wrapped up in clearing Nicky’s name than finding Lincoln. Hans was going to have her head if she didn’t at least locate some bit of good information. Tomorrow when she returned she vowed to put the Nicky mystery aside.

 

Hope went to Wexler House late that night and plugged in her iPod while she searched the house for more clues in the Abraham legend. Someone had to have saved something from that visit, some campaign memorabilia, something.

As she walked away from her iPod it started to pick up static. She walked back up to it and pushed it farther into the portable speaker set she had. She didn’t think static really occurred on iPods since she wasn’t listening to a channel. She walked away again and it went to static again and she heard faintly a man’s voice calling her. 

It wasn’t Nicky’s.

It was a deeper voice, one that was almost sinister.

“Who are you?” she asked, not sure if she wanted an answer.

The music then came back on clearly and very loud. And then her cell phone rang. She turned down the music and it was that man’s voice coming through static.

“Hope…”

“Yes? What do you want?”

“I want you to leave.”

And with that a door opened and slammed upstairs. She heard something loud thud to the floor and she immediately ran out of the house, scared more than ever, and got into her car to leave without gathering her things. That wasn’t Nicky and she wasn’t sticking around to see who it was.

She could see the light in Miss Benita’s room go on and a figure move forward towards the window. It was a bigger figure than what she imagined Nicky to be.

She put the car in reverse and sped down the long driveway to Joan’s, not coming back until the morning.

***

 

Joan reluctantly went out to the house the next morning with Hope. Joan told Hope she thinks Cecily’s little séance probably opened up a portal and someone else likely came through. Hope was praying that this wasn’t the case and then worried that somehow this new presence would try and hurt Nicky. 

“He’s dead, Hope…it’s you I am worried about,” Joan said.

When they got into the house Hope’s belongings, iPod, phone, laptop, papers, were all destroyed and all over the floor in the parlor. 

“No no no no no!!” Hope yelled and went up to her things. “My research was on this laptop!”

Joan was standing near the stairs and noticed the portrait of Nicholas Wexler was punched through and hanging from a wall sconce. The words IN HELL were written on the wall above it on the wall at an impossible height. Someone would’ve needed to bring a ladder into the place last night to have carried this off.

“Oh no!!” Joan said as she went to retrieve the portrait, “Our sweet Nicholas!”

Hope looked up at the painting Nicky had made and the sky was now red in it, instead of blue. “This is insane!” She cried.

Joan came into the parlor holding the portrait. “Hope, I think we need to leave. This is no longer a good place.”

“No Joan. It is clear to me that someone else did this…and is trying to keep me from helping Nicky. This is bullshit.”

“Hope, you yourself were scared to death when you got back to my house last night…it’s clear that this place is no longer safe! I am calling someone I know who does what Cecily does, only better. We have to get this place back in order!!”

“Joan, the last thing we need is another séance or voodoo dance or smoke and mirrors…I have to find out what Nicky needs so he can leave this place, too. He is now trapped with something in here!”

Hope went on and on, trying to tell Joan that Nicholas needed her help desperately and no one else was fit to do it when Joan cut her off.

“Oh my God,” Joan gasped. She went up to the painting of the three sisters and the same handwriting that was in the hallways was over Susannah’s face. It said WHORE.

“Fucking Bradley Wexler,” Hope fumed. “Joan, call your friend.”


	8. Something Evil

Hope and Joan got back to the house and Joan immediately got on the phone and called her friend Yesenia. Apparently this woman was a medium who had helped local police find a missing girl's body many years ago. The little girl had visited Yesenia in a dream and told her where she was buried, and by Yesenia locating the body it made Blue Creek County sheriff's suspicious. She had to go through several lie detector tests to prove she had nothing to do with the girl's death and she was just a medium who spoke to the dead. She finally got off the hook and people had sought her out for years. Joan knew her from an Elvis memorabilia show in Memphis and called her right up.

In the meantime, Hope was trying to locate the nearest iPhone store and email Hans that "thieves" stole her laptop. He immediately emailed her back that he was sorry it happened and told her to just carry on as best she could. He wasn't mad, which surprised Hope. Aruba must definitely be a nice vacation spot.

Yesenia said she could come in three days if her daughter could watch her dogs. She owed Joan a favor and was also intrigued by the haunting. She asked Joan to send her a synopsis on what was going on. Hope typed it up and emailed it.

In the meantime Joan barred Hope from going back to the house, which deeply bothered Hope. Although Joan was right, Nicky was obviously dead, she didn't know if that still meant he had to deal with whatever was in the house now with him. She tried to reach him in her dreams but he did not come. This bothered her, too. Hope almost snuck away on day two of waiting for Yesenia when Joan threatened her with calling the cops on her. "I'll do what I have to do to keep you from going over there," Joan said.

When day three finally arrived Yesenia came with her assistant, Carmen. Yesenia looked like a normal woman you would see on the street. No funky clothing, no talismans. She wore a simple gold necklace and dressed plainly. Yesenia and Carmen were related in some way and Yesenia was teaching Carmen how to run video equipment and EVP recorders. This was like an entire ghost show operation. After eating a quick breakfast, the four women headed out to Wexler House.

Slowly unlocking the door and going inside, Yesenia didn't appear to change once she got into the house like Cecily did. Everything seemed matter-of-fact with her. Carmen set up a ton of equipment and they both moved throughout the house without fear or hesitation. Hope asked Yesenia about this and if she was afraid and she said, "No, I've got a spirit guide who guards me...and so far, so good."

Hope was surprised that she wasn't scared either and was walking around the house asking Nicky if he could hear her. She knocked a couple times on things and then Yesenia got onto her, "You can't do that. Let me handle this."

At around 6 pm Yesenia and Carmen started a prayer in the parlor and asked Hope and Joan to join in. Nothing strange occurred and everything seemed to run smoothly. 

"Hope, what exactly happened at the seance that Cecily held? I need you to explain as much as you can remember," Yesenia asked. She had gotten the past events from Hope earlier on. Hope explained everything in more detail for her. "Amateur people shouldn't hold seances. I don't have anything more to say about that. You might as well give a Ouija board to a groups of schoolchildren. It's not child's play. I don't care if Cecily could see Nicholas or not."

Hope understood but there was no doubting Cecily had a gift of some type. She just didn't know how to control it.

"Now I am going to ask some questions. We may not get answers right now, but we may be able to review some of what is recorded here tonight. I also set up a piece of paper and pencil in the great hall out there and I've had luck with that on many occasions," Yesenia said.

"Yesenia, can you actually see people?" Hope asked.

Yesenia answered, "Only in dreams. Not in reality like this."

She started asking a series of questions, "Who is here in the house with us?" "Can you tell us your name?" "Why are you here?" "We come in peace...do you?" and so on and so forth.

Yesenia then asked the spirit to answer with knocks since she knew Nicky did that with Hope. No knocks ever sounded.

Another method she employed was asking questions and seeing if a light would flash on a special detection box she had. This finally got results they could see.

"Is this Nicholas Allen Wexler?" she asked. The light went off. 

"Are you the only one here?" No light went off.

"Is there someone else here with you?" Light excitedly went off.

"Is that person good?" No light.

Without missing a beat Yesenia asked, "Is that person bad?" The light went nuts with the blinking.

"Nicky is it Bradley?" Hope butted in. Yesenia looked like she was going to object but the light excitedly went off.

"Don't do that again, Hope," Yesenia said.

Hope nodded.

"Nicholas, we will help you....." just then they heard running upstairs and something stopping at the second floor landing. From where they were sitting in the parlor they could not see what was on the stairs at that point. Joan looked scared. Yesenia was unshaken and Carmen looked at Hope as if to warn her to not get up. 

Yesenia then spoke, "Nicholas is that you?"

The light went crazy.

Hope's knee was shaking in anticipation. She was nervous and anxious at the same time. She wanted to see him but she was afraid of Bradley showing up.

Yesenia then asked, "Nicholas, can you please come down?"

At first there was no movement. Then the candles that had still flames started to go. Their flames started to dance as if in a draft and then went out. 

Everyone's hearts were racing, except for Yesenia's as whatever was on the stairs then started do descend them. Creaky stair noises and then soft intelligible whispering. Lavender. The spirit made it's way to the entryway of the parlor but no one could see him. 

Hope could hear a light breathing and a rustle of a frock coat. Hope went to get up and Yesenia said, "No...Hope...remain there, please."

Hope could feel a coldness next to her as if something was standing there looking down at her. He was right next to her.

"Nicky," she said quietly. 

Just then everyone could hear something else run down the stairs and it sounded heavier and more plodding than Nicholas. Before anyone could do anything this unseen presence started making bits of plaster drop from the ceiling and cracks appear in the walls that spread to the ceiling. Hope then felt an extremely ominous presence enter the room. Yesenia asked, "Is this Bradley Wexler?" When she did this all the windows in the house shattered and the presence jumped on Hope trying to pull her away by the legs.

Hope was screaming and kicking and the three other women jumped up trying to hold Hope down. Yesenia held up a crucifix and yelled, "The power of Jesus Christ compels you to release this woman now!!!" It didn't help and the powerful force was trying to pull Hope out the front door of the house. She then felt a cool presence that wasn't as cold as the one at her feet fulling her back into the house, effectively slamming the door in the other spirit's face, or lack thereof.

Everyone was on the floor at this point and Hope that, according to Yesenia, Joan, and Carmen, was when Hope fainted.

According to Hope she was able to rise and Nicky was standing there before her. He looked like he was in a wind machine, his jacket flaring out and he was walking against a wind towards her. She looked behind her to see where the wind was coming from and she could no longer see her three companions, but instead a larger man with a cruel thin mouth, white-blonde hair, and wearing the same period clothes as Nicky. It was Bradley Wexler. 

He was laughing at Hope and Nicky. "You fools!" Bradley said in a deep sinister voice, "I will destroy her Nicholas!! I want you to see this happen!"

Nicky looked mad with fury and his eyes were dark, "I will never allow that to happen, Bradley."

Hope turned and addressed Bradley, "You are evil and not wanted here...go away!"

Bradley just laughed at her, "I will never go away...."

Bradley began pulling Hope away from Nicky, but Nicky was holding onto her with all his might. She felt like she was slipping away and Bradley was winning when she was awakened by Yesenia putting cold water on her face. 

"Hope!" Joan cried, "She's awake...we need a doctor!" Hope looked down and saw her legs were scratched up and bleeding. 

"No! I can manage!" Hope got up, although somewhat unsteadily.

Yesenia was straightening her dress when she said, "It is time to pack up and analyze the information we may have here."

The group gathered their items and tidied up before they went to leave. Hope descended the stairs halfway while Yesenia was preoccupied, "Nicky...I promise I will not leave you." She saw a light flicker that was near her and she knew he understood.

 

***

After sleeping for what seemed 12 hours, Hope woke up to the portrait of Nicky in her room at Joan's. She had placed it there the other night when they brought it home and she had sworn she had seen life register in the eyes as she drifted off. She got up and smiled. She changed her clothes in the adjoining bathroom and sat on he edge of the bed combing out her hair. She closed her eyes and sat there for a moment thinking.

Just then she smelled lavender. She popped open her eyes and when she saw no one was there she looked at the portrait. Nicky's eyes were more lifelike and his cheeks and full lips had a more lifelike color to them. 

"Nicky, I wish I had lived back then for you," she said, her feelings overwhelmed from the prior night's events.

A branch from a dogwood tree outside gently scraped her window in the breeze. A breeze that wasn't there before. She smiled and left her room.

 

Hope entered the living room where the analysis was set up and Yesenia, Carmen, and Joan looked up at her with a seriousness to their faces. Hope looked at them for a moment, "Okay....what is going on?" she asked with an unsure and cautious voice.

"The information we have here is pretty overwhelming," Yesenia said. "We basically caught Nicholas coming into the parlor, in full-blown apparition and some dark shadow try and pull you out the front door." 

"We've never seen anything like this on video," Carmen added.

Joan looked disturbed.

Hope sat down and they replayed the video. She saw Nicky enter the room, eyes dark, you could barely make him out as he stood close to Hope while looking in the direction of the stairs. He was definitely shielding her from something.

Then a dark swooping object could be seen entering the parlor and pulling Hope away, Nicky trying to rebound and hold onto her with the other three women helping.

"With all the wind and cold coming through that door I had no idea he was so close to us," Joan said.

"Hope, our next phase is us cleaning the house out once and for all. It may take some time. And I feel as though it may take a priest," Yesenia said.

"An exorcism?" Hope asked.

"Somewhat like that," Yesenia said. "But it may get rid of Nicholas, too, and frankly, I think this is what Nicholas needs in order to go towards the light."

"No, absolutely not," Hope protested. "He is not evil. Bradley is. Nicky has unanswered questions."

"Hope, these things are either all or nothing. We cannot be specific and just rid the house of Bradley."

"No! There has got to be another way!"

"Hope...you cannot save this being."

"NO YESENIA!"

Hope got up and left. Just then a call came through on Joan's cell. It was James and he was hysterical. Joan quickly passed the phone to Hope after he said he needed her.

"James, what is wrong?" Hope asked.

"Hope...Oh my God!" he was crying, "It's Hans....Hope, he had a heart attack!"

"Oh my God...." Hope said.

James was sobbing, "Hope...."

"James?"

"Hans is dead."

 

***

 

The funeral was on a Monday in Richmond. After being at Wexler House for three weeks, Hope felt out of touch and completely enveloped by sorrow at the loss of her mentor. She knew heart problems ran in Hans' family but she didn't expect this to happen. They were scuba diving and Hans didn't come up after a certain amount of time. The boat crew went looking for him only to have him appear on the other side of the boat clutching his chest. He died right there on the boat en route to dry land. His family was inconsolable.

Hope was beside herself. When she got back to her place she collapsed on the floor sobbing hysterically. She lay there on the floor crying in her black mourning clothes as the sun came in and cast a warmth that just could not comfort her. Hans was like family to her. She had known him for over a decade and he was always there for her, speaking up for her when committees reviewed her credentials for a job, inviting her to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with his family, and being there for her when her mother died. Now he was gone, too.

She was sobbing so hard she tried to upright herself but she couldn't stand up. She just sat on the floor and rested her head on one of the seat cushions on her couch. 

Just then she felt a coolness under her cheek and the form of a knee there. A hand started to smooth away her hair and wipe away her tears. 

Lavender.

"Shhh sweet girl..." she heard echoing all around her, words mixing with words as they normally did when he talked to her in person. "Shhh Hope...sweet...shhhh...sweet girl..." 

"Nicky, don't ever leave me...."

He gently combed through her long flaxen hair with his fingers, never catching a strand or pulling it. His knees didn't feel bony, but she could feel the gentle rise of the muscle in his thighs, his skin cool through the the material of his clothing. 

"Shhhh...Hope....."

At this time Hope felt sure of herself to finally open her eyes and look at him instead of feeling him. She saw him everytime clear as day in her dreams, so why not here.

She slowly opened her eyes and let them adjust. First she saw simple black boots on his feet, a tailored yet more crudely 19th-century made fabric on his pants, his white hands, slowly up his torso which had a high-waisted silk vest, cream shirt which was thick at the neck, black frock coat with a high empire-era collar, and finally to his face which both looked beautiful but slightly terrifying at the same time. His face was white but the eyes were incredibly dark, the pupils were enlarged, making the irises look black and lifeless. His hair was brown/red and his lips were full and darker than the rest of his face. He looked like the most beautiful dead thing she had ever seen but he was very obviously not of the living. He looked like he was there before her in flesh but like he was coming through a filter. It was like he had his own light source. He looked at her with very sad eyes, almost afraid of what she was going to say. 

"See me?" he asked.

She nodded. A tear ran down her cheek.

He opened his mouth and she could see crooked teeth. "Are you scared of me?"

Hope nodded, "A little."

He touched her face and she smiled weakly at him.

"I won't let Bradley ruin this," Hope said. 

Nicky smiled at her and rubbed her chin.

And then he was gone.


	9. Shedding Light

A month remained before Hope would have to be back for classes at William and Mary in the Fall. A new professor took over Hans' spot and told the board he didn't see any reason to keep researching Wexler House as no documentation has ever supported the fact that any famous people in history had anything to do with the house, other than an obscure painter living there. Hope and James were livid and this new professor told them he didn't give a damn. He wanted Hope back that Fall teaching Civil War and Reconstruction and he didn't want to be bothered with Wexler anymore. He told Hope to enjoy her "extended vacation" but to be ready in early September.

Hope and James were at her house in Richmond fuming about the new professor and looking over Nicky's missing diary entries they had retrieved just a month prior. 

"I am in a way happy to be off the hook for this Lincoln stuff," Hope said, "But now I worry that no one will want to preserve the house."

James agreed, "I wish I could just buy the thing."

"It would be too expensive for any of us, James. Plus the land. They'd probably raze the thing, sell what's inside at an antiques place, and put a subdivision on the property," Hope complained. "It looks like it could hold over 200 houses out there."

"I know, some shitty white bread suburban Hell," James laughed.

Just then Hope's Skype popped up on her new laptop. It was Joan.

"Hey, Joan," Hope smilled, turning the laptop around so she and James could both face Joan on the screen.

Joan had Herman with her and they were sitting in her living room, TV on in the background.

"Hope, when are you coming back?" Joan asked.

"This weekend...how has everything been?" Hope asked.

"Quiet. It's been quiet."

"No weird stuff?" Hope asked, making sure nothing odd was going on.

"No. I've been inside the place just once," Joan said. "Course, I did have to bring my friend Mike with me in case that crazy Bradley fellow showed up."

"So nothing happened?" 

"No. We cleaned up a bit since the bank wants an accounting of all that is in there. It's got a nice trust set up by Miss Benita for a while longer, but in five years that money will be gone. After that, the bank can come and do whatever to the house and the property."

"Nice," Hope said, not knowing anything about assets, trusts, wills, and such.

"I want to save it but do not know what to do," Joan said. "Plus, I may have to move too, if the house cannot be paid for."

"Joan, I think we can save the place. It will come to us," Hope said, trying to be reassuring. She knew it was bullshit but she had to try.

 

The next day Hope went to see Trevor, her ex, in order to see if he could lift anything of value off of Nicky's documents. Trevor was surprisingly glad to do it and said it may take a while to be able to figure out what was on those pages. He asked Hope how she was doing, as he had heard from his colleagues that Hans had died. Hope said it's been hard but having something to focus on has helped her. She was going to explain more and he quickly promised to help her with this and would contact her soon. Typical Trevor; quick to move on when he thinks a girl is about to talk about her feelings. She left the entries with him and made him swear that he would not lose them.

In a just three days Trevor was calling her telling her he was able to lift 90% of the entries already and told her it was pretty fascinating reading. Hope was shocked and thanked him for this. Trevor never had that quick of a turnaround, but he explained everything just sort of "lifted itself" really easily. He provided Hope with a typed version of all 120 pages after another week. Nicky didn't keep a day by day diary; more like something with just important events in it.

 

Hope quickly got the originals and typed version back from Trevor and took them back to her place to read alone. A vivid story came to life in front of her eyes. 

 

\- Flashback: Philadelphia 1821 -

 

Susannah and Bradley arrive at the home of the Wexlers at 122 State Street. They are newlyweds and are coming to dinner at the urging of Susannah's parents. For some reason Ezra wants to see Bradley awfully bad and Elizabeth is upset that business dealings are all her husband seems to be interested in. 

After quick hellos and greetings, Susannah walks out back to the spacious backyard and finds Nicholas sitting under a tree reading Dante's Inferno. 

"Hello, Nicky," she says, her blue empire-waist dress gently flowing in the breeze, her hair up with blonde curls on the side of her head like her mother's.

Nicholas doesn't look up at her but keeps turning pages, "Hello. I trust your....husband...is inside with father, is he not?"

Susannah knew her brother loathed her husband, "Yes, but we have time to talk, just you and I!" she said, sitting down facing him after she put down a shawl. It was highly distasteful for women to sit down on the ground back then but Susannah didn't care. 

"Did you tell Bradley I hate him and I think it's best that he move away?" Nicholas said, looking up, his eyes narrowed.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Nicky..."

"...I shall not lay about and watch my sister be brutalized," Nicholas said, anger rising.

"It will be okay..."

"...No it will not!"

Just then Bradley came out of the house, trudging heavily. His and Nicholas' eyes locked and Bradley smirked at him.

"Well hello my fair brother-in-law," Bradley irked, "Susannah. Get off of that ground." He said looking down at her.

Nicholas stood up and got into Bradley's face, "She will get up when she wants to, Bradley."

Bradley was heavier set and could easily beat up Nicholas. Susannah was getting up and going to enter the house. She looked timid and afraid, something she never was until Bradley and her started courting at her father's insistence.

"Nicholas, you are a terrible loss of a son. A fool and a dreamer. No wonder your father prefers me to you."

"If you lay a hand on my sister out of anger I will run you in."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Absolutely."

"Good! I'd like to see you try it!" Bradley laughed and turned to go into the house. 

Nicholas was fuming. He wanted to kill the man but could not see how. His sister was his best friend and now she was someone's wife and abuse taker. He fantasized about running Bradley in with a sword, a bayonet, anything. 

One day he just knew he'd have to have the chance.

 

\- Philadelphia, October 1823 -

Susannah took a coach with her two very young children Annie and Calvin to her parents' house. Bradley had beaten her so severely she had to cover her bruised face with a silken scarf. When she got to the Wexler home her mom immediately knew what was going on and in tears brought her daughter to Ezra, who was sitting in the drawing room.

"Ezra!! He's done it again! He must be stopped!!" Elizabeth pleaded. She was holding her daughter close to her and Annie clung to her mother's skirts, while Calvin bawled in Susannah's arms.

Nicholas came home from a night out with his friends, people of low morals, per Ezra. Nicholas flew into a rage when he saw his sister's face, "MY GOD I WILL KILL HIM!!" he yelled, making Ezra stand up.

"No! She must go home and stop this nonsense! Bradley will cool down...I will go over there myself," Ezra announced.

Susannah wailed, "Bradley wants to have Nicky beaten up! I begged him to not do this and told him I would tell you, Nicky!"

"Father, you see! He wants to do harm to me and ends up doing it to my sister when she protests! I WILL FUCKING KILL HIM!"

Ezra and Elizabeth were shocked by Nicholas' foul language.

"You see! It's these people you play cards with that impart that kind of language and cursing! Elizabeth, have Penelope gather my things...we are taking Susannah and the children back to Bradley and I will have a word with him!"

"Lies!!" Nicholas yelled at his father, "You'll appease him for a week again and he'll go back to hitting her!!"

Ezra turned and looked at Nicholas with a fury, "Bradley has done more for the Wexler name than you have! Look at you!! Your hair and clothes a mess and the smell of alcohol on you!"

Nicholas walked up to his father, smiling darkly, "You care for money more than your own daughter, it is clear enough. One day I will do something that will open your eyes and ruin you!" And with that Nicholas ran up the stairs to his room. He rummaged through his things looking for a pistol and when not finding it yelled at the top of his lungs. Ezra had found the gun after going through Nicholas' things and hidden it. A single bullet was in the gun and Nicholas had meant it for Bradley and on some nights, himself.

 

\- Philadelphia, January 1825 -

"You're going to stay here," Nicholas told his sister, opening the door to his quarters on Jessup Street. He had moved out of the Wexler house and wanted Susannah and her two children to stay with him. He had talked her into coming and told her he himself would give up his life and kill Bradley if he tried to come and retrieve Susannah. She was reluctant because it would definitely mean the gallows for her brother. But Bradley was beginning to beat her in front of Annie and Calvin and this could not continue. Plus, she had lost a third baby due to the stress of it all.

"Nicky, I cannot stay with you forever," she said. 

"Yes you can...you are free to do whatever you want...he doesn't own you like some slave!" Annie asked for Nicholas to pick her up and he did, nuzzling her nose to his. "You are family, Susannah, and I won't go about seeing my sister get torn up any longer."

Susannah ended up only staying for two nights. Bradley pleaded with her to come home and claimed as he always did that he would change his ways and Jesus made him see the light. She left one day after leaving Nicholas a letter. When he got home and read it tears of rage streamed down his face. He knew his sister was lost and would one day die at the hands of Bradley Wexler if she didn't leave him.

 

Later that week Nicholas went to play cards with some friends. A man named Percy Rolfe was there and Nicholas got into an argument with Percy, whom Nicholas realized was a business acquaintance of Bradley's. What Nicholas didn't know was one of Bradley's cohorts, John Pierce was watching the whole thing go down at the pub Nicholas and his group met at. John was the kind of man Bradley liked to keep close at hand in case he needed John to do his evil bidding. John was the kind of man who would kill a whore sooner than pay her for her services. Both Bradley and John frequented the brothels of downtown Philadelphia and Bradley knew how to keep it hidden from his wife. After that night at the pub, John reported back to Bradley that he saw Nicholas and Percy arguing and that was when Bradley hatched a plan to frame his meddling brother-in-law.

The next night Bradley called a meeting with Percy. John was there to help cover up any evidence that Bradley was there. Percy owed Bradley money anyways and could never pay it. As Percy approached Bradley in darkened alley, he saw Bradley nod to someone behind him. That was when John came at Percy and stabbed him through many times until the man bled out onto the muddy ground. All this transpired near a pub Nicholas frequented and at a time Nicholas usually left to walk home. The alley was on Nicholas' way home and the dagger John used was the same dagger Ezra owned. Bradley had stolen it a week before. No one in the city would buy that Ezra had committed the crime, naturally, since Ezra was at a late-night political meeting clear on the other side of town. No. People would definitely, on the other hand, believe it was Ezra's unhinged, angry son, Nicholas.

 

The next two months for Nicholas were pure hell. Everyone in town vehemently believed Nicholas to be the killer. Nicholas said he was innocent and yelled it at finger pointing Philadelphia society. It was no use. On the day the authorities were about to seize Nicholas his father finally put his foot down and paid a handsome sum to spare his son. The local authorities, who Ezra had scandal on themselves, were all too happy to accept the money and for the Wexlers to go quietly away. Ezra was none too happy to do this. But his wife and daughters pleaded, with Elizabeth even threatening to leave Ezra. It was settled; they would move to a quiet but promising small town in South Carolina, just a day's ride from Charleston. Ezra was still an incredibly wealthy man and was tired of Philadelphia life on the same token. He believed Nicholas killed the man, still not accepting that Bradley may have done it. Bradley had all kinds of alibis from mischievous individuals and Ezra bought it hook, line, and sinker. Bradley was livid that his plan backfired on him and wanted to strangle Susannah with his bare hands because she was key in orchestrating her brother's freedom. Nicholas had his suspicions about Bradley but Ezra refused to listen. Nicholas couldn't prove anything and sometimes wondered if Bradley, even as evil as he was, was innocent. All Nicholas knew for sure was that he himself did not kill Percy Rolfe. 

 

-Present day, Hope is done reading the missing passages from 1821 to 1825. -

"Bradley Wexler, you piece of shit," Hope fumed. She learned later that Bradley involved himself in slave trading at some point down in Charleston and the thought turned her stomach. He was an abysmal piece of trash, but even poor Nicky could do nothing to dislodge him from the family. 

Per Hope's further reading it appears after the move to Knightsville, Nicky gave up on trying to fight everything. He tried to pull Susannah away from Bradley and the beatings did cease a little after they moved to Wexler House, but he could never get her to leave Bradley. Ezra's money mixed with Bradley's and they owned several print and newspaper publishers at that time. Ezra worked in his extensive garden and still took legal clients from the Carolinas. Bradley smoothly transitioned from being a rich northern man to an even richer southern man.

\- August, 1825 -

Nicky was not as well at home in South Carolina, it seemed. He tried to make the best of it and earned money painting families in fancy portraits by request. A friend of his in Charleston painted the portrait of Nicky that Hope now had.

He was upset over the condition of the slaves, especially. He saw them in the more populated areas being forced to do something, anything, everything. He saw a little boy standing in muck, bringing feedbags to the horses while their owners sat inside a pub. Nicky approached the boy, who looked to only be 6 and asked him what his name was. The child looked nervous and wouldn't speak. An older child came up and asked Nicky if he needed his horse looked after. Nicky said he doesn't ride a horse and saw that the older child had dried blood on his shirt. Nicky gave the two children some of the cornbread he had on him and they gobbled it up. Just then a large white man rushed out of the pub and demanded to know why Nicky was "Botherin' with his niggras," Nicky was disgusted at the fat man in his smelly clothes and sweaty beard. The children looked scared and Nicky made something up that they gave him directions to a local barber shop. The white man then relaxed, "Oh these boys here are mighty stupid but they sure can recall shit." Nicky nodded and walked away looking back at the children after the man went back inside. This was not the place for him. The place was evil beyond all comprehension. It was a place perfect for his brother-in-law.

Nicky would come back to Wexler House and see that it was almost done that August. He found a creek that ran back through the woods beyond the clearing and would walk back there with Annie, who was now four, and her three-year-old brother. Susannah sometimes came and so would Ursula, Bradley's sister directly above him in age.

"Nicky, when are we going to build our playhouse?" Annie would ask about the project her uncle promised for her out in the woods.

"I don't know," he'd tell her as they threw rocks across the water. "When we get what is left of the building materials for the big House."

"I am tired of waiting," Annie would pout.

Nicky would scoop her up and spin her around, making her laugh as his sisters and nephew looked for frogs in the creek. He showed more care and concern for the children than their own father did, which wasn't hard because Bradley was hardly ever in their presence to begin with. 

It dawned on Nicky that he needed to marry soon. He was getting tired of being off to himself. He fancied a girl named Nancy Bourdeaux, who he saw in town once or twice. Susannah wanted to matchmake them and Nicky was definitely ready.

***

Hope wondered about Nicky and Nancy and felt a tinge of jealousy when she read some of the poetry Nicky wrote about Nancy. She had turned back to Nicky's diary to the part where it picked back up about Nancy.

One of Nicky's poems about Nancy was definitely romantic and very strong and Hope could sense a lot of lust and yearning below the surface. She imagined the sex life of horny early 19th century twenty-six-year-old bachelors were confined to either dalliances with paid women or with their wives. Nicky didn't strike her as the type to want to tarry with prostitutes, so he was probably very pent up and his poetry and drawings were the only way to break free.

"Unless he masturbated," she joked to herself, and then thought for a second what that must have looked like and she shuddered at how it turned her on.

"That's enough reading!" She put the entries and diary down and decided it as time for bed.

She wondered if the entries that Trevor translated were the only thing Nicky wanted her to find. Nothing in them seemed too earth-shattering now. Nicky had to know and still believe that Bradley framed him. What was it that Nicky needed to move on? Did he want it just to be known that he didn't kill Percy? Did he need her to write an article on this and clear his name? What? 

She realized she was trying to rationalize how a ghost would think and then shook her head. There was no rationale, she imagined. Just emotion.

That night Hope went to sleep with her iPod on, the last song she remembered hearing was the sensual "Miracle" by Olive. 

Her eyes closed, opened, closed again and then she drifted off.

She dreamt about Nicky again. As she lay in bed she started to move her hips in her sleep, feeling something between her legs and a familiar rising of ache.

She opened her eyes and Nicky was standing in her doorway, in the flesh, looking at her. She noticed he was just watching her move in the bed and she felt herself moving her hands underneath her silken pajama shorts and over her mound of warmth. His eyes grew wider and his lips parted. She was just watching her, his eyes in a daze. Every so often as her rubbing would make her moan softly she could see his nostrils flare and his chest rise. 

He came over to the bed and crawled over her, facing down at her, but not laying his body on hers.

"Nicky, don't look at me like this," she pleaded.

He cleared his throat and he looked down at her hand in her pajamas and then he looked back at her. He lowered his hand to help her with what she was doing and just when it was about to get good her alarm went off.

It was 7 am. She had been asleep for six hours but it felt like 30 minutes.


	10. The Eye

That morning Hope got ready to go see James and Cecily. They were all going to catch up, and James was going to go back south to Wexler House with Hope. He wanted to help her continue searching for items that may help Nicky in some way. Hope wanted to see if she could find any other diaries and maybe see if Joan would let her read the diary of Susannah Wexler. There had to be more to this than just confirming something she already knew; Nicky was not a killer and the evil Bradley Wexler framed him.

Hope showered and wondered to herself if these dreams about Nicky were real or just in her mind. She had no way of knowing but desperately hoped they were. Nicky was so real, so mortal and his interest in seeing her in the position she was in last night was telling. He was definitely infatuated with her if he was appearing to her. If it was just a dream, then she was most certainly overly-infatuated with him. She already knew that to be the case.

She then wondered if Nicky died a virgin. Hope seriously doubted this as his words about Nancy Bourdeaux betrayed a kind of knowledge of the flesh that he couldn't have made up. 

"Finding her,  
I bow before her garden  
transfixed by a stream where I drink with greed.  
Her eyes are fixed on me  
Glassing over, happy with warmth  
Happy I am there...."

It could be nothing but she read it over and over again. Maybe he had sex with her or maybe he was just writing something that she was over-analyzing. At any rate, she was jealous of this kind of thing and felt a little silly for it.

 

When they all met up for lunch, Hope told Cecily that Yesenia claimed their little seance brought something back. Cecily told her she already knew. Hope shot a look at James for telling Cecily but he denied saying anything.

"Cecily just knew," he said.

Cecily looked bothered by this and apologized, "I didn't mean for this to happen, Hope. I am actually having a very hard time with this but Nicky told me it was okay."

Hope looked at Cecily funny, "What do you mean 'Nicky told me it was okay'?"

Cecily stirred her tea, "Hope, when I left that house after blessing it he told me something else was there and he could handle it. He didn't seem scared for himself," she said, "but then he added that he is worried for you and wants everyone to keep you safe."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Hope asked, wondering why Cecily let this go by.

"Because I didn't want to scare you and I didn't think it would be so bad. Honestly, Hope...I wasn't just trying to cover up my transgression. I was too busy trying to keep everyone from freaking out. And in the past month I've been trying to figure out a way to drive Bradley back."

"Cecily, I would like to hear that...but I don't know if I can go with you again," Hope said, a worried look on her face, "Cecily, Yesenia said we cannot use you again for any of this."

Cecily nodded, "I understand, Hope. I am not going to try and convince you or anyone else to let me tackle this problem. But I want to give you an idea, at least, on what we need to do. My mother and auntie are very skilled at this..."

"Cecily, with all due respect, and no offense to your family, but I think a priest is basically needed now."

"No Hope...they do not understand the dead like we do. This takes something more precise....my mother and auntie have been driving evil spirits out of people and things for over 40 years. It is very specific. Let us do this."

Hope was beginning to wonder just how many mediums, voodoo practitioners, priests, or snake charmers she'd have to go through before totally losing her sanity. 

"This is crazy, Cecily. It is just getting to be like 'Spin the Wheel on the Medium'," Hope said sarcastically.

Cecily was over it, "James, I'm not getting through to her," and she got up to leave.

"Wait Cecily," he said and held her hand to keep her from going, "Hope, I know she opened something up. But only her family can reverse what occurred. Not that Yesenia lady or anyone else."

Hope was thinking about it as Cecily was standing there, "Cecily, I need to have my head examined. What exactly is it our mom and aunt can do?"

Cecily finally sat back down, "They will extract Bradley and leave Nicky there so you can move on with helping him go home."

 

***

"No! I won't allow it," Joan said firmly back into the phone, "I like Cecily, I really do, but she caused this and it is very doubtful the same people who taught her can put it straight again."

"But Joan, they are even mad at Cecily for trying this....they are true practitioners and their work has been documented on several websites I found," Hope said back.

"This is crazy, Hope."

"That's what I said."

"I want to call Yesenia again."

"Hold off on it."

"I want to drive myself to the nut farm up the road and check in."

Hope smiled into the phone, "Hold off on it."

 

***

 

Joan was standing outside her house a few days later when everyone arrived. Cecily's mother, Debra and her aunt Josephine got out of a black Cadillac. They had followed Hope, James, and Cecily and were staying in town at a local bed and breakfast, which just so happened to be the former home of Nancy Bourdeaux and the man she eventually married. There was definitely a little irony there.

Debra and Josephine dressed like a blend of Cecily and Yesenia. At this point Hope was used to seeing just about everything and started to realize mediums and their ilk were just regular people. Some dressed like complete kooks like Cecily, and others dressed inconspicuous like Yesenia. Debra wore all black and had black sunglasses on that she wasn't taking off. Josephine wore a scarf on her head that knotted in the back with the rest of it running far down between her shoulders. Josephine seemed to like bright colors but Debra did not. Debra had a crucifix and a strange necklace behind it that looked West African. Hope thought she was caught up in some New Orleans murder mystery with a bunch of key players. She would've thought this amusing over a month ago, but now she was just hoping these colorful people could help them out.

"This is definitely the place, sister," Josephine said under her breath to Josephine. Hope caught the shine of a scar behind Debra's sunglasses that looked like it might've gone across her left eye. She wondered if maybe Debra as missing an eye and then realized Debra was the one driving the Cadillac. Probably half-blind.

"It is," Debra said. 

"Child, you aren't going to do anything more," Debra said to Cecily, "We are going to take it from here."

Hope looked at Wexler House for the first time in a long time. It looked normal. There were no signs of Nicky or Bradley. 

"Come with us, Hope," Debra said, holding out her hand. Hope looked at Cecily who nodded. Joan asked, "What do you need her for, may I ask?" in a protective manner.

Debra turned and looked at Joan and took off her sunglasses finally. She indeed had one dead and cloudy left eye, which was a huge contrast to her dark brown skin, "Miss Joan, we are not going to let any harm come to Hope here....please know this."

Joan nodded but still looked leery and looked over at Cecily, who said, "It's okay, Joan. I made the mistake and they will unmake it."

"Hope, we need someone who can be an anchor for Mister Nicholas. He needs something that will tether him while we drive Bradley out," she said, "Hope it will be hard and maybe scary but you will make it through and we promise you this."

This is another one of those moments where anything for Nicky would sway her decisions. Rationale was pretty much gone at this point and had been for well over a month. If she had to spend the next 20 years of her life doing it, she would rid Wexler of Bradley, save the house, and help Nicky to find what he needed to be free. 

"I understand," she said and she faced the house again, letting them know she is ready. Debra put her sunglasses back on saying, "Let's proceed."

 

Once they got inside, Hope could see Joan had indeed tidied up. There were no signs of distress in the house and the place smelled like someone had just Windexed a ton of windows. She looked up at the staircase wondering if she could see Nicky with her newfound "ability" from the day she cried so hard. Nothing was there.

Going to the usual place, the parlor, Hope watched Debra and Josephine set up the typical odds and ends that looked like they were taken from Cecily and Yesenia's trove of items. The only thing that was new was the salt circle that Josephine poured around where they sat. 

"We don't have much time Hope. We need you to sit in a chair in the middle of us," Debra said.

Hope looked nervous and wondered finally if this was a bad idea.

"Sit," Josephine told her and put a strange necklace around Hope, "To keep you from being dragged in," she said.

"Dragged in?" 

The women ignored her. 

Finally Debra said, "This will be over soon, we promise. We've done this before, time and again."

Hope nodded and looked forward, staring at the paintings of Ezra and Elizabeth. Now that she had seen Nicky in person, she noticed he took after Elizabeth. She looked down from her portrait at Hope with the same kind, sad eyes. "Please don't let anything happen to me," Hope said quietly.

Debra answered that they wouldn't but Hope's comment was more for Nicky.

 

The process then started. 

Debra and Josephine started a prayer and then stood, while Hope was still sitting. They tried to first conjure the spirit of Nicholas Wexler but for some reason he wasn't showing. 

Then the sisters conjured the spirit of Bradley, who appeared, amazingly undetectable at first, as well. Josephine started reading from some book and had created a fire in the fireplace behind them. She waived some kind of scented gathering of flowers at the fireplace and sang a song in a different language.

Hope was just watching this, not knowing what to think. She always imagined anything with voodoo to be chickens and blood and this wasn't it. This was something entirely different. Just then the fire started building more and more and Hope's chair started to move with her on it. The women were singing and then suddenly something tried to pull Hope and the chair towards the fire. Hope screamed and jumped out of the chair and stumbled out of the parlor. Debra and Josephine tried to get her to come back and the chair had stopped before the fireplace and didn't actually go into the fire but it was too late; Hope was already in the hallway and facing her farther down the hall was an almost demonic looking Bradley Wexler. Hope screamed and tried to run back into the parlor but felt like she was eluding him in slow motion. Debra and Josephine held out their hands to her but Bradley was too strong and pulled her back towards him laughing. At this point Hope was screaming for her life and calling for Nicky at the top of her lungs.

Where was he?! 

Bradley pulled her to him and took her buy the neck and held her high into the air laughing at her. He then yelled, "Come and get her!!" as if in a taunt. Hope was kicking and screaming and Debra and Josephine were trying to make their way towards Hope but a fierce wind had kicked up in the house. The chandelier overhead fell and almost hit Debra and Josephine as they tried to pull themselves towards Hope by grabbing onto the table in the hall. It was no use, however, as Bradley's power was too strong. He then tore open Hope's shirt, revealing her camisole underneath. He laughed and Hope tried reaching at him to get him to stop. He raised his other hand and with a smack to her face sent Hope crashing to the ground like a rag doll. Debra and Josephine started praying and trying to make their way towards Hope, who's face was bleeding and laying on the floor. 

Bradley went to bend over and pick Hope up once more to continue his abuse when the floorboards of the hall started to blast up, starting from the front door and going towards Hope. It was then that Nicky suddenly appeared on the staircase, his face in a total fury as he looked at Bradley who was now crouched over Hope. Bradley's attention was now divided between Nicky and Hope and he was no longer able to watch the sisters, who crawled back into the parlor for one final implement of theirs to bring Bradley down.

Nicky looked like he was hellbent. Hope was coming to and saw his face and she cried out, scared to death of how he looked. His eyes were red and his face contorted with an anger that was palpable and inhuman. When he looked down at Hope and saw her bleeding and bruised he yelled at Bradley so loudly that all the windows in the house shattered outward like a tornado-force gale hit them. 

Hope had fooled Bradley. She had a lot more life in her than he thought and she knew she must crawl towards Nicky so Debra and Josephine could take down Bradley. She didn't know how she knew this or how she could achieve this, but she crawled towards Nicky and wrapped her arms around his legs. She didn't dare look up at him since he scared her so. He crouched at that moment she made contact and shielded her under his body.

"Another bitch for you to try and save from me, huh Nicky!!" Bradley laughed and then tried to pull both Nicky and Hope towards him with the strange power he had. Nicky glared at him with a look that made Bradley's face fall for a split second. 

It was then that Debra came out of the room and looked at Bradley with her one deadened eye...."You are dead to us!!" she screamed. Bradley froze in a daze and looking at her eye. Hope watched all this and could not believe it; an eye? This is what is going to fell an evil demon?

Debra walked dangerously close to Bradley and he tried to swing at her but he looked like he was evaporating into thin air. Hope thought she could see him yelling NO but no sound came out. Then when he was almost nothing Debra stared at him even harder and what was once Bradley Wexler was now a tiny sliver of a soul. It shot into Debra's eye like an arrow, knocking her to the ground and past Hope and Nicky. 

 

Josephine ran up to her sister and crouched trying wake her. "Sister, sister!" she cried.

Debra then shot back up into a sitting position and screamed, like she was just awakened from a bad dream. She looked forward at Nicky and then saw Hope still crouched under him. When Debra realized Bradley was finally gone she said, "It is done. Bradley Wexler is gone."

 

A loud banging was heard at the door and Joan was yelling to let her in. Before the door swung open Hope tried her best to look up at Nicky, who was fading. She collapsed to the floor where he once was after he completely disappeared and started crying. Joan swung the door open and James and Cecily barged in with her. 

"What in God's name happened?!!" Joan demanded as Cecily helped her mom off the floor. 

James rushed to Hope's side. 

"We've cleaned the house of Bradley Wexler, Miss Joan," Josephine said. "Now it's on to church."


	11. A death

After church and an early dinner the group parted ways. Debra, Josephine, and Cecily were heading on to Charleston to see some family, and James was going to stay with Hope and Joan and help Hope look through Susannah Wexler’s diaries.

Hope wanted to thank Debra and Josephine, as they had not only rid the house of Bradley Wexler, but they also saved her life.

“No need to thank us,” Debra said after Hope hugged her and told her so, “This is what we do.”

James couldn’t hold it in any longer and had to know how Debra got the scar and what was going to happen next to her since Bradley ‘disappeared’ into her.

“A man did this scar on me, James. A man when I was thirteen years old. He tried to almost kill me, but he gave me a gift, you see,” Debra said, taking her sunglasses off and letting him see her white cloudy eye, James was definitely enthralled and also grossed out, “And as for Bradley Wexler…let’s just say I’ve done this before…Josephine and I have a place for him.” Debra turned and started laughing and so did Josephine. Cecily knew what that meant; they were going to send him to hell and do it with gusto.

After the Cadillac with Debra, Josephine, and Cecily pulled out of the driveway, Hope, James, and Joan went back into Joan’s house.

Joan immediately brought the large pink hat box she was using to hold Susannah’s diaries in and brought them into the living room for Hope and James. Sitting around the coffee table, they got their notebooks out to take down key events as they were going to sit there and try and read all 30 diaries. 

Joan was in a good mood and immediately left them to their business. She was going to clean the house and open all the windows to let the breeze in. She was ecstatic that Bradley was now gone. Turning on her CD player in the kitchen, Diane Schuur’s “Lousiana Sunday Afternoon” started to play. Herman barked and came and sat on James’ lap. James groaned, but allowed the pooch to lay on him anyways.

“She’s in a good mood,” James said, looking at Joan, who was dancing to Diane’s song, “She seems to be the happiest that Bradley is gone.”

Hope turned and watched Joan, who was attacking the dust above the cabinets in her kitchen, “Yeah,” she laughed, “I mean, she’s grown up with that house always in the background.”

“I suppose,” James said, “But if she starts singing, I am out of here.”

Six hours later, after dividing the stack and taking a ream of notes apiece, Hope and James were ready for a break. They walked out onto the front porch to sit and watch the lightning bugs dance about in the dark. 

James had brought one of the diaries outside with him, “I think you need to read this,” he said. It was Susannah’s thoughts on June 15th, 1827. It was a tear-stained, short paragraph, possibly a few words that Susannah might’ve read at her brother’s funeral. Hope’s eyes teared up as she read it and then closed the book.

“His death probably killed her emotionally,” Hope said, looking out into the darkness that was the front yard.

“I know. They were very close…and I think that dickhead Bradley hated it.”

 

\- Flashback, May 25th, 1827 (not an entry in Susannah’s diary, but a true flashback) –

A cholera epidemic had broken out among the slaves in Charleston. Only the poorest white people were susceptible to the illness and none of the rich people, like the Wexlers were even remotely affected. 

Bradley Wexler had been in Charleston buying slaves for a paper mill he was building and had been fuming that five of the six slaves he bought and earlier in the week had come down with the disease. He was so angry about it that he had the 6th and final slave killed out if spite, although that slave showed no signs of the illness. He made it out of Charleston before things got much crazier and back home to Wexler House in order to handle business there with Ezra.

Once he got back to the house, he found Nicky and his children, Annie, and Calvin sitting out in the clearing under a tree. Nicky had been reading “The Iliad” to them and Annie was drawing while Calvin played with some wooden soldiers. Nicky’s little dog, Jumper, was there laying in the dirt, chewing on a piece of jerky.

When Bradley came up he either purposefully or accidentally kicked Jumper, making the dog yelp. He looked down at his children and said, “Get up! You’re soiling your clothes!”  
Nicky glared up at Bradley, without raising his face. Bradley then yanked Calvin up, making the child cry out, “I said get up!”

Annie immediately got up, too, and obediently stood by her father. 

Nicky put the book down and stood up and walked up to Bradley, who was a half foot taller than Nicky, “If you ever pick him up like that again, I swear…”

Bradley was already laughing at Nicky, “You swear what? You’ll beat me? You’ll call for a duel…please. You won’t do shit. You’re a weak little mama’s boy, Nicholas…you know it. And you’re a damn fool.”

Nicky glared at him, his chest heaving in anger, and Bradley walked away, laughing even more and kicking up dust with his heavy walking. He had Calvin in his arms and Annie was holding his other hand. Annie looked back at Nicky, wishing she could stay with him.

Nicky would’ve challenged and fought Bradley right there had his children not been with him. He knew Bradley was probably a better fighter, but Nicky didn’t care. He vowed to somehow take his sister and her children away from Bradley again. But he didn’t know how.

Later that night Nicky left to go into town and play cards with some friends. He knew he was going to be late so he intended on going back to the one room wooden shack he had built on the property, instead of his bedroom in the big house. He didn’t want to wake everyone up and he frequently slept out in the shack anyways, which was a makeshift place to draw, paint, and write. He could hear the night animals and the cool breeze through the mossy oaks, their boughs creaking overhead and it inspired him when he drew. There was a small cot in the shack and a pillow. He preferred the shack, actually, to the house, and no one ever bothered him there or entered the shack.

Before Nicky came home that night, Bradley snuck into the shack. He was wearing an unseasonably heavy jacket and had his face covered. He wore thick leather gloves and had a dirty sack with him. The sack had the shirt off the sickest slave he had bought; cholera had killed the man and the bodies were burned with all their clothes until Bradley got the horrid idea to save a memento, just for something dastardly as he was about to do.

Bradley knew he only had two hours to work with before Nicky got home, so he got to work. In dim candlelight he rubbed the filthy shirt all over Nicky’s cot and pillow, and was careful to take the grimiest part of the shirt and spread it under Nicky’s pillow, so he wouldn’t pick up on the scent. Bradley laughed as he did this and then turned and rubbed the shirt on more of Nicky’s things; his charcoal drawing sticks, his papers, a few drawings. Bradley found a naked drawing of Nancy Bourdeaux and he picked it up smirking. She was sitting on a bed, her legs slightly spread, a thick dark thatch of hair between her legs and her black hair down around her bosom. Bradley would’ve stopped everything right there and masturbated to it, but he was in a predicament and didn’t dare touch anything on his person. He always thought it would be nice to rape Nancy and then tell Nicky about it. It was a fantasy, as well as anything else that would bring Nicky pain and challenge him to fight Bradley, who wanted nothing more than to kill Nicky.

After he was done, he snuck back out of the shack and headed to the woods. He went very deep into them and burned all his clothes, the sack with the shirt in it, and his gloves, and bathed in the creek, later returning to the big house wearing a fresh pair of clothes.

He quietly slid into bed with Susannah and then got on top of her, forcing her to have sex with him.

She tried to push him off of her, but it was no use and she gave in like she always did. He hurt her every time they had sex, telling her he couldn’t feel anything unless he knew she was in pain.

After he was done he told her that they were going to leave with the kids tomorrow for Atlanta. Susannah tried to protest but Bradley gripped her neck tightly and told her she’d do as he said because he has business there and he wasn’t “leaving his beloved family behind.”

 

May 31st, 1827 –

Nicky had been feeling very sick for days and stumbled into the house one evening. His sisters Bethany and Ursula were in the parlor with their mother Elizabeth, playing music and talking. Nicky appeared in the doorway, sweating heavily and holding onto the wall. 

“Nicky?!” Ursula exclaimed and Elizabeth screamed as he fell to the floor. She screamed for Penelope, their maid, to come.

Penelope ran into the room wiping her hands off on her apron and gasped. She immediately knew what was wrong as she had just been in Charleston to get some cloth for the Wexlers. She left after seeing the illness that was there and bought nothing. She looked up at Elizabeth, “We have to get him to the shack.”

Elizabeth at first protested but Penelope told her he could contaminate the entire house. They took Nicky out to the shack, and Elizabeth ordered her daughters to leave at once and go home. Elizabeth gingerly laid Nicky down on his cot and put his head in her lap, cradling him. Penelope opened his shirt and his entire torso was drenched in sweat. He was breathing heavily and then vomited all over himself. 

Penelope tried to order Elizabeth out of the shack, but she refused to go, “This is my only boy…I will stay here!” Elizabeth had been through several outbreaks of yellow and scarlet fever and a close call with consumption. All the dogs of hell wouldn’t have been able to tear her away from her Nicky.

She told Penelope to go lock Nicky’s bedroom door in the big house and she thanked God that Susannah and her family had already left town for a business trip. Elizabeth locked the door to the shack from the inside, and then went back to the cot. Cradling Nicky’s head, she looked down into his eyes, which were glassed over, she started to rock him and sing softly. 

“Mama…” he breathed, and then fell asleep.

When Ezra came home that night he banged on the door to the shack and demanded that Elizabeth leave at once and let the doctor attend to Nicky. A doctor wouldn’t be at their house for another three days, but Ezra wasn’t about to let his murdering son take his wife down with him.

Elizabeth yelled that she wasn’t leaving him, but Nicky said, ”Go…you can’t stay out here all night…” Elizabeth adamantly refused and continued to hold him, cooling his face with water that Penelope brought in a pitcher.

Ezra finally left and cursed his son. He didn’t emerge from the home nor see his son alive again.

Doctors came and bled Nicky, as Elizabeth prayed and watched his youthful frame turn into a paler, more skinny version of himself. Doctor after doctor came and told Elizabeth there was nothing could be done. Finally on June 11, 1827, she stopped calling for medical help and Nicky locked the door from the inside of the shack, refusing to let anyone see him, no matter how much his mother pleaded.

That afternoon Susannah returned from Atlanta with Bradley because there was some business matter Ezra needed to discuss with Bradley. Susannah cried at the door of the shack, begging Nicky to let her in. He refused, but sat down on the other side of the door, naked except for the dirty blanket he had been sleeping in. He had long torn off his clothes and pushed them into a corner of the shack, as they smelled like death. Susannah sobbed and scratched at the door from the outside.

“Nicky…..” she cried, strings of saliva coming out of her mouth, her face wet with tears and her hair plastered at the temple to her face. “Please…..Nicky……..let me in………..”

He closed his eyes and banged his head on the door of the shack and then pulled at his hair, “No, Susie…nooo….” He cried, “…I don’t want you to get sick.”

“But I want to see you……”

“No, Susie…”

“Nicky….” She coughed and sputtered, “…how am I going to live without my big brother, my only protector?”

Nicky turned and faced the door, “You will live a long….a long life….” Tears were streaming down his face, “…and I will still be there for you every step of the way.”

Just then Bradley came walking up with his heavy trod and pulled Susannah up violently.

“Noooo!! NOOOOO!!!” she screamed and kicked, as he pulled her away by her waist to his body.

Bradley took this opportunity to dig one last time at Nicky, “No, Susannah!! You cannot see him again! We don’t want you to DIE, as well!” He emphasized that word and snickered as he looked at the door of the shack.

Nicky started sobbing hard and yet didn’t want Susannah to hear him, so he bit into the blanket. He couldn’t let her know his heart was dying. He kicked angrily at the dirt floor and cried hard into the blanket.

“NOOOOOOOO NICKY!!!!!!!!!!!!!” she screamed and cried and collapsed into Bradley’s arms as he pulled her back to the house.

After Susannah and Bradley were long out of earshot, Nicky sat down at his drawing desk and stabbed a piece of paper with a charcoal pencil drawing violently….dark storm clouds….a black steed….white eyes, angry bent over trees caught up in a storm….angry black circles….again and again again….his face a twisted fury….DIE BRADLEY DIE FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCKING MURDERED ME!!!!!!!!!! It had finally dawned on him.

He was drawing so hard and so violently, that he tore through the paper and broke the thick charcoal pencil in half, drawing a huge skull on his desk and then thickly drawing through that with crumbled charcoal. He collapsed in a fit of rage and tears and cried out into the night, likely stealing the last bit of energy he had in his body and therefore shortening his last few days even more.

On June 15th, 1827, just four days later, Susannah went to Nicky’s shack in the middle of the night. A whippoorwill called out from one of the branches in the oak tree behind the shack. She knocked on the door, “Nicky…Nicky,” she whispered. No answer. 

She then called out, in a louder voice, “Nicky…answer me….please….”

Nothing. 

She stood there for a moment and she looked at the moon, which was high in the night sky and full. She shuddered from a chill and then looked back at the door to the shack. Realizing something was truly wrong she pulled her skirts up a bit to run into the house and wake her mother up.

Five minutes later, Elizabeth, Susannah, and Penelope were back at the shack with the groundskeeper, Mr. Bishop. Bishop pried open the door with an ax handle and Elizabeth rushed inside. She screamed and backed out slowly. Bishop and Susannah went back inside, with Bishop holding a lantern inside the shack. There, up against the wall on the floor in a fetal position was Nicholas Wexler, in a dingy blanket, pale sunken in skin, with dark eyes open, pupils enlarged…and dead. Susannah screamed and fell to her knees. 

“NICKY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

***

The next few days the groundsmen at Wexler House burned the shack down, never looking at what was inside on the drawing table. Nicky’s body had been removed and wasn’t safe to keep on view in the parlor in an open coffin, as was the tradition in those days.

The tree above the shack caught fire, too, a possibly 400-year-old oak tree. Susannah stood from her bedroom and watched, her face swollen from crying. Bradley was once again gone on business and the funeral was to be the next day.

Those in attendance at Nicky’s funeral, which was held behind the house at a new gravesite were Ezra, Elizabeth, Susannah, Annie, Calvin, Bethany and her husband, Ursula and hers, Mr. Bishop, Penelope, and a few of the local people who knew the family. Nancy Bourdeaux could not come as her mother forbade it; she was afraid the Wexlers could possibly have cholera amongst them, although no one else came down with the illness. Nicky’s little dog Jumper was there too, and laid at Annie and Calvin’s feet. Susannah said a few things at Nicky’s funeral after the reverend spoke. Elizabeth and her daughters threw flowers down onto the casket and Ezra just looked blankly down into the 6 foot deep hole, not saying a word. His son was a failure, he felt. One who shouldn’t have been hanging around tramps and vagabonds in town. If it weren’t for them, Nicky would’ve maybe amounted to something like Bradley, Ezra thought.

A week later Annie was playing in the woods near the little shack Nicky built for her. She had her dollies with her and Jumper was sniffing around and trying to eat bugs.

Annie looked up, after she heard a twig crack underneath someone’s shoe at the opening to her little playhouse. Jumper backed away and growled for a moment and then stopped and laid down next to Annie. A big smile slowly grew across Annie’s face and Jumper’s tag wagged excitedly.

“Nicky!” Annie exclaimed and then ran up to the person in the doorway.


	12. Another visit

After reading more and more about what Susannah wrote it became clear to Hope and James that she had her suspicions that her husband killed her brother. 

"Biological warfare," James said. 

Hope was numb. She hated Bradley Wexler with a white hot hate. In just the few diary entries out of thousands that Susannah kept, 1827 revealed everything that was missing. Maybe this was truly all Nicky was waiting on. 

"James, I need to go back to the house," Hope said.

James looked at her strangely, "What? Now? At 9 o'clock a night?"

She stood and went to go inside and get the keys to James' car, as her rental was long gone. "Yes, and I mean to go alone."

James protested, "Just stay...what is so important that it can't wait?"

"James, the house is now safe and I am not afraid of Nicky, so there's no reason to be skittish...I will see you in the morning."

He just looked at her like she lost her mind. He wouldn't have gone back to that place. They were able to have the windows boarded up by some local construction men, but she was basically going to sit in a drafty old house with torn up floorboards and the memory of what happened earlier.

"You have bigger balls than me....just keep your phone on," he said.

 

Hope made it to the house 10 minutes later and let herself inside, turning all the lights on. The place was quiet and the parlor smelled like the fireplace that had finally roared to life for the first time in many years. She placed her cell phone on the table and then stood at the foot of the stairs.

"Nicky...I know that Bradley Wexler murdered you. Susannah's diaries....it was in there," she said outloud, looking around, waiting for him to stir.

Of course, he never showed up when she wanted him. It was doubtful that he was fickle. She knew he was taken with her and wanted to be around her. But he only seemed to show himself to her in extreme cases or dreams. And this morning he looked truly frightening as he faced Bradley. 

For some reason she wasn't scared. 

"Nicky?" she called again. No answer. She took her new laptop and plugged it in. It was amazing that she could catch WiFi out there. She turned a movie on, got bored with it and realized she probably needed to sleep in order for Nicky to come to her. She just wasn't tired. She then brought up her iTunes and started listening to it. In the bag she had brought with her that held her laptop and her phone she also had Nicky's journal. She went back to reading the poetry he wrote about Nancy. For some odd reason, although it made her terribly jealous, she was interested in their story. She had to be insane to be in love with a ghost, anyways, she reasoned. Nancy was a beauty and she wondered about their relationship time and again.

On her iTunes she just realized ironically that Stevie Nicks' was singing "Silver Springs"....."don't say that she's pretty....don't say that she loves you....baby I don't wanna know....oh noooo...." It was all too much as the song was too perfect.

 

\- Flashback, August 1826 -

Nicky and Nancy were swimming in a lake on the outskirts of Knightsville. It was on land that her uncle owned and never visited. He wanted to turn the land into a plantation but was too busy with interests down in Georgia. It was the best spot for the two to be alone, not bothered by anyone.

"C'mon...." Nicky said, trying to get Nancy to swim to him. They were both naked, and he had coaxed her to take off her clothes earlier so he could draw her. 

Nancy was blushing, "You better not try anything," she said. Her and Nicky had lightly fooled around up to that point. She had seen him naked and had been astonished to learn how large a man's cock was. She was scared of it but also interested, but knew she had to keep it away from her, lest she turn up in a delicate condition before they were even married.

"My love...come here," he said, looking at her intensely. She swam to him and rested her hands on his shoulders, "See," he said, "I'm not going to bite."

"I know Nicky...I was told to never trust a man without his breeches on."

Nicky laughed outloud. He was definitely turned on as he could see her breasts just below the water. He leaned in and kissed her with full lips taking over her own. She leaned into the kiss but jumped when she felt his cockstand against her leg.

"Nicky!!" she said and tried to pull away.

"I am not going to put it in you....at least not for a while, sadly," he said. They were betrothed but he didn't have the money to marry her until next year. He wanted to take her away from South Carolina and live abroad, something his father refused to provide his inheritance for. Her parents were not too happy about the idea, either, and yet still were fine with the idea of them marrying since it brought the Wexler name into their family. 

She relaxed and touched his lips with her fingertips, taking in their fullness and then looked into his hazel eyes, which had a gray cast to them now that they were in the water. His nose was perfect and made him completely and utterly handsome. She ran her hands down his wet collarbone and down into the water, and then grasped at his thickness making him close his eyes and breathe out. "Nancy..." he said, "that is not proper..."

She smiled and kept touching it, stroking it. He pulled her over to a rock that was coming out of the water so he could lean up against it. She continued to play with Nicky until a deep moan came out of him and she felt him slowly go limp.

 

Later on as they were getting dressed, Nancy asked Nicky about the murder of Percy Rolfe. He had explained to her before that he didn't do it and didn't want to talk about it. He had told her she can accept him as he is, which was not a murderer, he stressed, or end their betrothal. In her heart of hearts she believed he was innocent but her friends liked to gossip and told her it was because of a woman that he killed Percy.

"Nicky, they keep talking about it," she said, "And I cannot get them to stop."

"Then you should find other friends," was his terse answer. Nancy wondered how someone like Nicky, who she knew to be nothing but honest and true, could've had murder charges brought against him. Nicky deep down knew it was likely Bradley who had something to do with this whole thing, but he couldn't prove it and didn't want to make things hard on Susannah. 

"Nancy...someone had a vendetta against me or my family. I don't know why, but I do know this talk has gone on long enough. I haven't done anything wrong to anyone here...that is why I want to move to Europe and get away from all of this."

"I know Nicky," Nancy said as she moved closed to him and put her hand behind his head, "I just hate hearing them talk."

"Their minds are idle and all they do is sit and do needlework," he said, "Let them talk. By this time next year we will be man and wife." He held her close their two foreheads together and she nodded.

 

***

Hope sat and thought about Nancy and how painful it must have been to lose someone like Nicky. She knows she eventually married another local man as one of the local bed and breakfasts that everyone stays at was their home at one time. It appears Nancy was kept away from him, even in his sickness. Or had she succumbed to the gossip or another man? She wasn't sure. She just knows she could not attend his funeral.

At 12 midnight Hope wrapped herself up in a thick blanket, one she had pulled from James's backseat earlier on, and fell asleep in the parlor.

 

Eyes blink, blink...asleep.

Hope was standing in the clearing. It was a sunny day. Nicky came up behind her and tickled her sides and she turned around, looking at him as he was in his natural beautiful state. "Hope, now I find you out here...and you were just asleep," he teased. Maybe these dreams were real, she thought.

"Nicky!" she hugged him and he held her there for a second. She was wearing a long blue gown with a train that fluttered aloft in the breeze behind her. It was very dreamlike but very real. She took in Nicky's face between her hands while she could, "We removed Bradley from the house," she said.

"I know. I was there when it happened, sweet girl," he smiled. 

"Nicky, um...I know he was the one who murdered you," she said softly. He looked at her intensely and then back down, nodding his head.

"I cannot tell you how happy I am that you know that. He framed me and then killed me..."

"...and now he is going somewhere where he can never come after you," she said quickly.

He smiled weakly, "We don't talk of other spirits anymore once they've passed into darkness."

Hope looked at him and then said, "Nicky, I don't ever want you to go, but I know you have to, I know it." He nodded.

"What else do you need me to do? I want to help you but I need to know more. I feel like you kind of already knew Bradley did all this....why did you need me to find this out?"

He was now holding her hands in front of them, staring into her eyes. He then spoke, "Because someone else had to know. Not just me. And besides...there are some things I want to give to you, my Hope."

She wondered what he could possibly have to give her. She really only wanted him but knew that wasn't going to happen. There was technically no one there to love or carry a sane relationship with. 

"Hope, I know this house means a lot to you now...and I know it is in danger," he said.

Hope nodded. He continued, "There was once a document my father had that detailed where he kept his money at."

She looked at him, was he about to tell her where there was some hidden cash that was in bills that no one could use anymore? She had seen enough movies to know this kind of stuff always happened. 

"Hope, find out where he put the gold that he amassed. If you can locate that...and I have no idea where it is...then you can save Wexler House."

She just looked at him. Was he for real? Well, no.

"Nicky, you want me to find the gold you can't lead me to? How is that supposed to work? Where would your father have possibly kept it?"

He looked away, as if he saw someone in the distance, "Hope...I have to go, but I can tell you this...you're not done. There are still more things to do. And they are all for you. I will go when you let me go...and I will stay forever for you, just the same. Check the grounds where the old greenhouse was at. I believe a house now sits above it..."

He started to fade. She was tossing in her sleep and could see that Annie and Calvin had been in the distance, trying to get their uncle's attention. 

"Hope," he started to fade, "Love you...." and his eyes were the last thing she saw before she awoke at 4 am.

 

***

The next morning hope awoke at 8:30 and saw on the coffee table that someone had left her a gardenia flower. She quickly gathered her things, smelling the heavenly bloom, knowing it was Nicky who did that. 

When she got back to the house James was sitting on the front porch with a locally-brewed beer, at 9 am, rocking back and forth. "Well look who survived," he joked, "Did you get any ghost nookie from Nicky?"

Hope made a face and quickly went in with the gardenia and put it a shallow bowl of water. 

She came back outside, "Where's Joan?" 

"I think she went to the store, why?"

"Nicky told me there is allegedly some gold his father had."

"What? Are you serious or just making shit up, Hope?"

"No...honestly. And we need to find out where the greenhouse was that Ezra Wexler kept."

James looked at her like he knew something.

"What?" she asked.

"That's easy....we're sitting on it's exact spot."


	13. Nancy Bourdeaux

“How the heck did you know that, James?” Hope asked.

“You mean how did I know the greenhouse was pretty much where this house is now at?” James asked.

“Yes!”

“Joan and I talk, too, ya know. She has more to her than just a bunch of shawls and crazy.”

“I know that, James. What did she say?”

“Well, per her, her granddaddy used to be the groundskeeper and so was his granddaddy, and their granddaddy. They used to come out here and help Ezra take care of the special herb he was growing, which should’ve been pot, but sadly it wasn’t. By the way, I could see Nicky laying there, naked and stoned on a bearskin rug….”

Hope rolled her eyes, “Continue, James.”

He grinned, “…anyways, they used to do a lot of horticultural stuff and when Ezra died, he left the greenhouse to Grandpappy Bishop and later on the thing was converted slowly into a home. The original foundation is still under the house, Joan told me once. She said it was special to her family to keep the original foundation under there. I dunno…but anyways, if there’s gold doubloon and some other kickass rich shit under here, we need to get to diggin’ and blowing up this here Elvis museum…”

“…James, we can’t do that! It’s Joan’s house.”

Just then Joan pulled up, Deep Purple’s “Fireball” playing extremely loud. 

Hope laughed; apparently Joan was still in a great mood.

Joan got out of the car and had two bags with her, “You two kids are in for a treat tonight! I am making my famous vegetable lasagna…it’s like crack!”

James said, “Sign me up, Joan!”

Hope went to help her get some other stuff out of the car and James asked Joan about the greenhouse and gold once they all were inside the house.

“What?!” Joan said, “Gold?!” 

“Yeah, Nicky paid Hope a conjugal ghost visit and told her about some gold…” James was saying.

“James!! We didn’t have sex!” Hope retorted.

“…Anyways, during their unfortunately nonsexual visit, he told her there is possibly gold somewhere on the property. Seems like that massive jerk of a father he had stashed some gold away. I bet that prick Bradley was onto it and shit,” James continued.

Joan stood there a moment and thought, “Ya know…the greenhouse was also a little bigger than the house…we may be in luck and find out there is something around the house other than below it. The Wexler greenhouse was about the size of four of my houses.”

“Well if it’s directly under your house can we blow up the house and go for it?” James asked, being an ass.

Joan smirked, already knowing James was a bit of a sarcastic personality, “Ya know…we could. Just get some TNT out here from my friend Mike. He knows some guys.”

“Seriously…if there is gold, we gotta locate it because it could save the house,” Hope jumped in.

Joan thought some more, “Mike knows a guy who works for a geological company. No wait…he is retired. I can call Mike and see if the guy knows anything. I mean he can tell us what equipment to use, etc.”

“I wouldn’t go telling people about the gold. Just say you are interested in checking out where the original foundation is or something,” Hope said.

“Oh naw…the chances that there is really gold here are slim…” Joan said. “…I would think it would’ve been located by now, honestly.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I get the impression Nicky wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t still there…I dunno,” Hope said, looking down. She hoped this wasn’t just some wildly amazing story that had no merit. She was used to seeing this kind of thing in movies. People always find buried treasure and save a house. It was all too good to be true. That’s why she didn’t trust it completely. She imagined some distant relative already found the stuff…maybe Benita. But the Wexler fortune slowly deteriorated over the years by family use. There could’ve, perhaps, been one last thing to find. Hope was excited; she could save the house, make it into a historical site with the Wexler gold backing it up, or if that doesn’t work, make it into a respectable bed and breakfast. The last option could be seen as tacky, so she wasn’t sure of it.

“Joan, try and call Mike, ask him to call his friend, and let’s see what we can do to rule out gold being under the house,” Hope said.

***

That evening, Hope and James were putting Susannah’s diaries in plastic, airtight bags for preservation. Hope knew that probably wasn’t the best, but seeing as she didn’t have better methods, sandwich bags would do for now.

“Hope,” James said, “Are you going to be able to let Nicky go when it’s time?” 

Hope looked at him. She was afraid of this question and really didn’t want to answer it. James stared at her, tapping his finger.

“I think so…I hope so. I mean…” she stopped, “…I mean he isn’t a living breathing person anymore, and I have been pretty good at remembering that, but…I dunno. I am going to miss him when he is gone. Really really badly, I fear.”

James just listened to her.

“I feel like, there is definitely a strong connection. Like he knows me for some reason. Like he can see something in me. Or maybe someone…”

James nodded, taking a sip of Joan’s home-made Sangria.

“…I feel like I’ve always known him. It’s just that simple and trite.”

“I wish I could see him myself,” James said, “Like you and Cecily, her mom and aunt could see him. But Joan can’t.”

“Yeah…well they are gifted and he keeps revealing himself to me in dreams.”

“I could do with a Nicky dream. He hung around a lot of men and was very artistic…ya know…” he said, laughing.

“James, I don’t think Nicky was gay,” she said.

“Too bad for him,” James said.

 

The next day Hope and James went to the Blue Creek County library. Sherry was there waiting for them. “You called and said you want to see more of the Wexler files,” Sherry said…”Go on…knock yourself out.” She handed them the key to the archives and they went in. They were on a mission to look at more of the files Hope didn’t get to pour over and search for anything that might allude to gold.

Two hours into it James located a file on the Bourdeaux family, Nancy’s family, “Hey…there’s a rolled up painting in here!” James said, pulling a long circular tube out and popping off the top.

They carefully rolled the painting out onto the table in the archives, their white gloves gingerly spreading out the beautiful work of art that revealed to be Nancy Bourdeaux in a velvet chair with two little dogs at her feet and a rose in one of her hands. She was stunning, someone who could hold a candle to Nicky, that was for sure. She had creamy white skin, vibrant eyes, and pitch black hair. 

“Jennifer Connelly, everyone,” James said, laughing.

“She sure was something else,” Hope said, feeling a slight tinge of jealousy.

“Who did she end up marrying?” James asked.

“Some local guy,” Hope answered, “I never bothered to look him up.”

“Ah hah!” James said, pulling a family tree out of a sleeve in the Boudreaux archive, “Jackpot, boys and girls.”

Hope went back to the Wexler file and James took interest in the Bourdeaux’s.

It took James three hours to go over Nancy’s tree and the notes about it, but apparently Nancy married a George Sutcliffe, a local plantation owner. The bed and breakfast where Debra and Josephine stayed was the main house and they grew the typical crop, cotton. Nancy bore a whopping eight children, half of them moving to Charleston, and one even moving out west to pan for gold. James saw that three of the six who went to Charleston died before having heirs. That left Thomas Sutcliffe, George Sutcliffe Jr., and Violet Sutcliffe. Violet married a man who got embroiled in the Confederate attack on Ft. Sumter in Charleston Harbor. He was killed there and she lived as a widow. She had three children. James was eagerly tracing the tree. Ancestry research sites were a favorite of his and this was like candy to him. 

In the 1950s he found a teenage great granddaughter x 4 of Violet named Sonya Gaynor who had to give the baby up for adoption due to the stigma of being an unwed mother. The family was still wealthy members of society at that time and it would’ve definitely been frowned upon by uppity Charleston society. The baby girl was given up for adoption to a local family. The records state the child was in good hands and the family’s last name was………Connor. Otherwise the record was sealed.

“Um Hope…” James said, his eyes wide and not believing what he was seeing.

“Yeah?”

“What was your mom’s maiden name?”

“Connor, why?”

James covered his mouth and looked up at Hope, his eyes bulging. He was scaring her, “What, James? What is it?!”

“Um…there is a possibility that I found your mom’s birth parent…at least who her real mother was.”

Hope froze, “You found that in the Bourdeaux file?”

“Uh yeah…your biological grandmother was a direct descendant of Nancy Bourdeaux."

“What the fuck?! How did you arrive at that?” Hope was shocked.

James told her. Apparently these records were formerly sealed but were open for perusal in 2010, about 50 years after Hope’s mom was born. She wondered why her mom wasn’t able to locate her parents. 

“Well, this blurb is pretty short…she wouldn’t have had any way of knowing that a rich teenage girl would’ve been her mom…I mean, I imagine they sealed the records on your mom’s end,” James said. “Unfortunately it doesn’t say a thing about who your biological grandfather was…probably some local rich boy.”

Hope started tearing up; if this was the case she had finally located at least one of her mom’s birth parents. Her mom would’ve been shocked to learn she came from rich Charleston stock. Her adopted parents, the Connors had four natural-born children, but their fifth was her mother. They lived a middle class existence and her adopted grandfather worked as an accountant there in Charleston. 

Hope then realized something else; Nicky’s attraction to Hope had a new meaning to her. He couldn’t possibly have known about her being a descendant of Nancy, or he would’ve told her, right? Did she give off some kind of silly Nancy pheromone? She certainly didn’t look like Nancy. Hope was a beautiful girl but nothing as dramatically breathtaking as Miss Bourdeaux, she felt.

“Imagine this Hope…had Nicky lived to marry Nancy, you may have not been born…it’s just how it works,” James said.

She was stunned by the revelation. James was right. Nicky could’ve married Nancy, taken her away to Europe, had a different line of children, and the output of descendants would’ve been totally different.

“Mom, I hope you’re hearing all this,” Hope said, holding a little ring she always wore that her mom gave her. It was always on her right hand.

“Girl, you need to tell Nicky this the next time you see him…you’re a descendant of his main squeeze, Nancy.”

Hope thought this was a good idea at first, but what if it upset Nicky somehow? Nancy went on to marry someone else and have many many children with someone else. Hope was way down the line and Nicky may come to the same conclusion; Hope was living because he had been murdered. 

“I can’t James.”

“Why the hell not?”

She explained the situation.

“Oh that’s bullshit, Hope. He isn’t going to be mad. What’s done is done. It’s unfortunate but not, ya know?”

Hope nodded her head. 

The drive home from the library was a quiet one. Hope was looking out the window as James drove on.

“You’re still debating it, aren’t you, Hope?” he asked, always figuring out what she was thinking about.

Hope started playing with her iPhone. 

“Just tell him. Jesus. If he gets made then he has a pea brain.”

“I know. I mean, do you even think he knows how much damn time has elapsed? It’s been 185 years since he died. He is over 200 years old. It’s insane. I mean, what does he know? Does he know I am from 2012? Does he know about cars? Has he seen one while he haunts the place and looks outside the window? All of this is so surreal. I mean, we’ve cracked open a physiological maze of stuff…what happens to us after we die, does the soul still tie itself to people and places? Is there an afterlife? God, James.”

“I know, I know. I mean, Hans, your mom, my grandma Gertie…no one else has showed up. Just Nicky. And that motherfucker Bradley. Something tells me Nicky is basically one of those souls that just can’t move on. I guess we should be glad that your mom and my grandma and Hans aren’t visiting….Hope, they are in a good place, most likely.”

Hope nodded. She still wished she could see her mother and ask her questions. She would have to rely on Nicky for the bulk of this afterlife information.

 

Hope was falling asleep peacefully after looking at the painting of Nicky in her room. His eyes looked different, but she was used to that. His eyes were sultrier now and they stared at her from the old canvas. She was wearing a very thin silk nightgown. It came to her thighs and when she woke up in the morning, she usually had a robe on. Now the robe was off and she was laying in bed falling asleep, her iPod playing Airiel’s “Stay”, a song James had shared with her from his music files.

The ambient music from the song made her fall asleep, the male voice singing romantically…”I love the light in your eyes…”

Nicky was there now, as she was dreaming. He was standing in the doorway, actually leaning up against it looking at her intensely, with bedroom eyes. He was dressed differently now. White flowing shirt, untucked, black long breaches. Lavender again.

Hope smiled at him and he came over to the bed, lifting the sheet. He got in next to her and they faced each other. He pulled her over towards him and she laid on his chest, as they clasped hands, his left and her right, and looked at their hands together. His hands were beautifully made, a light forking of two veins on the top of his hand, manly and strong. They measured their hands together and he clasped forward and then brought her hand to his full lips, kissing it.

“Sleep tight, my sweet one…” he softly said.

“Nicky…I will….I love you…”

Hope fell asleep in the dream, as well as in real life. 

Nicky then said outloud, but she had already fallen into slumber, “You have no idea how much I love you, Hope…no idea.”


	14. These Dreams

It was probably an hour later that Hope woke back up. Her music was now on some other playlist and she looked over at the pillow next to hers. Nicky was not there and she felt immediately depressed. She got up, peed, and then started to think of all the stuff she had on her plate for next semester. Classes to teach, a new boss' ass to kiss. Plus she needed to find a better apartment this year. When was the last time she got online and looked at her bank statement?

Eyes heavy. Blink....

She rolled over onto Nicky who was laying there, looking at her, smiling.

Hope was taken aback, dreaming, but shocked he was still there. 

"Nicky?" 

"What, sweetheart?"

She sat up and just looked at him, her legs crossed. His eyes were haunting...could they be anything else? They had a knowledge behind them. Something chained to a different place and time. His eyes then followed down her face, to her neck, breasts and finally her thighs. 

"Are you cold?" he asked. 

"No, Nicky. I am fine. I am always fine with you."

He grinned. What? Were her clothes too small?

She looked down at the short nightie and saw her nipples were hard and poking very obviously through the ivory silk. She quickly covered them out of respect and then looked at him. He was laying on his back, his left arm up and laying across his forehead. He stared into her eyes and with his right hand slowly took her hands and lowered them from concealing her breasts, never losing her gaze.

She felt an aching twinge go through her. She was yearning to feel him in a very intimate way.

"You are beautiful, Hope. Don't be ashamed around me..." he said softly, his lower lip wet and inviting. 

And with that Hope suddenly kissed him long and hard and the next thing she knew she had straddled him, surprising herself as she took charge.

He pulled back her long blonde hair from her face, his hands on either side of her head, "What do you want, Hope? I will give it to you freely."

She lowered herself onto him and kissed him deeply again, but lingering longer. She pulled away when she was ready to, Nicky letting her go, and she said "I want to be with you Nicky...I want to be one with you......"

He blinked slowly and his hands were now on her smooth bottom. She felt his hips slowly gyrating under her, his breathing picking up and his lips parting, "Hope...God...."

She could definitely feel his 'attraction'. It had grown significantly within the last two minutes. She slowly moved back and forth on it. Their eyes never leaving each others. She was getting lost in his eyes, mesmerized, losing herself, losing him. Losing her bearings. 

She fell off the bed with a bang, waking herself up. She must've been moving around too much in the dream.

"Oh no no no no no!!" She yelled, looking at the bed that had no Nicky in it. "Ugh!!" she cried out. She stood up and punched the bed in anger, bringing both fists down. "Nicky!!" she yelled.

Just then James was knocking at the door. Not missing a beat and not caring because he was her friend and also very gay, she opened the door, her nightie all hanging funny on her.

"Holy cow, did I walk in on something here?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a shirt that said COLLEGE on it and red heart boxers.

Hope was livid that she woke herself up because she knew it would take a while for her to go back to bed. It had been easier before but now that she was so mad she couldn't relax. "James, are there some sleeping pills anywhere in this house? Some Chamomile? Anything?" she said, angrily kicking around the room?

It dawned on James what happened, and he looked down at the bed, "Oooh, I get it...your boy Nicky was here," and he laughed. Hope pushed James out of anger.

"Hey!" he protested, "I didn't do anything wrong? You probably just woke up because you had to pee or something!"

Hope was pacing back and forth mad, "James, those boxers are stupid," she said.

He looked down, "Yeah well, they're not mine."

Hope laughed for a sec. 

"Look...you can't do this to yourself. If you only see him in dreams that is more than most of us," James reminded her. "I mean, you can't be taking fucking sleeping pills all the time just so you can see him, Hope."

"I know."

"Just try to go to sleep...you will drift off eventually. And then he'll come all stud muffin on a horse or whatever shit he arrives on."

She laughed again at James, "He doesn't ride a horse. He just....." she looked at his painting, "Appears."

 

Hope finally fell asleep after downing a cup of warm milk and purposefully watching Bob Ross paint little trees on the TV in her room. But Nicky didn't come. Was this only conditional? What was it? Did she have to not be expecting it? Why was he so damn hard to figure out sometimes? Either he wanted to be around or he didn't.

She was making him into a boyfriend that she was mad at. This had to stop or the both of them would be dream-locked to each other until she died. 

All she knew is she wanted just a little more time with him. And something amazing to happen.


	15. A Discovery

The most secret operation to hit Blue Creek County in many years was going on in Joan’s very yard. Mike had come to Joan’s to use his friend’s geological surveying equipment to try and run images of the water table and rock underneath Joan’s house. If there was any secret buried treasure they would be able to find it with this equipment, which was rather out of date, but still useful. Mike identified some patches in the yard that had dark interference on the little monitor that told them where irregularities were. There was only one area in particular that showed up as promising but it ended up being bits of iron from the original structure that sat there. 

“There ain’t nothing down here, Joan,” Mike finally said, turning off the equipment.

“Maybe with more up-to-date equipment we can find something,” she answered.

“No, it’s likely a dead end or something. Your granddaddy sure spun some tales, didn’t he?” Mike said, laughing.

Joan was lost in thought. Where else could gold be located on the property? She imagined the stuff was already long gone and Nicky just didn’t know it. Was all the Wexler fortune truly used up? Wouldn’t Benita or granddaddy have found it? 

Joan thought about Miss Benita. Growing up she remembered the woman being well off, but she didn’t remember any jewelry on her fingers or around her neck. She didn’t remember her having too many lavish things, either, but she was able to put money into entertaining local society. The lights were always on and Miss Benita drove a Mercedes. The family fortune was still somewhat intact when Benita lived but there wasn’t much left after she died. Only about $600,000 dollars which was not enough to carry a house of that magnitude very long through the last twenty years. Joan wanted to turn that big house upside down for the last time to see if there was anything that could save the place. Her and her grandfather had done it before, but their search yielded nothing. She also grandfather was too torn up over Benita’s death to really comb the house properly. He was very old himself and couldn't give the place a true look-over, either. Joan would need to do it again one last time.

 

Meanwhile, back at the big house, Hope and James were already a step ahead. They had launched into a Plan B to see if there was anything of value in the home to help save it. 

They felt like dirty scavengers but knew this was the only thing to save the home. They wanted to conserve it for Joan and the Wexler family. If only Nicky knew something definitive, more helpful, and real. Everything was a half answer or half info. He hadn’t lived for 180 years or so and couldn’t possibly really know what his family had anymore.

“Didn’t these people have jewelry or anything?” James said, looking through the house. He had brought a metal detector. 

“I don’t know James,” Hope said, still feeling weird that they were pulling the place apart to look for valuables. She had voiced her problem with this to James and he had told her either she save the Wexler place or develop too much of a conscience to save it. It was either, or. All Hope knew was they only had two weeks left before they needed to be back at William and Mary to prepare for the upcoming semester. Their summer-long vacation would possibly end without ever finding a way to save the home.

In the darkened area under the staircase, James found a hollow area. While Hope was busy in the upstairs area, James pulled out some of the woodwork with a claw hammer, “Oops, oh shit,” he said as he broke some of the wood.”

There was indeed a hole in the wall, and there inside was a little leather book.

“What is this?” James said, retrieving the item. 

Opening the book, he read the faded words:

“Herein lies the account of Susannah Ilene Wexler. I will speak plainly and openly; My husband Bradley Wexler killed my dear brother Nicholas Allen Wexler in cold blood. He poisoned my brother with disease and it took Nicky’s young life.

I cannot bring myself to talk of this scandal in public now, but maybe in my children’s time, they can reveal it. There is so much shame in our family at this current time, and it was misdirected at Nicky and has still perpetuated. 

I want my children to live their lives free of this burden. But it must be eventually known, and I may be the only one to tell it in this journal. My husband still lives but not for long. He is mad. Completely mad. If he kills me, I can only hope someone finds this account. I leave it for my kids for them to do with it as they wish. They will know what their father is and what their uncle once was.

Susannah Ilene Wexler  
June 10, 1840”

 

“That was kinda stupid,” James said out loud. Susannah should have just told everyone what occurred. The times were different back then but maybe she figured the children were better off not knowing until they were older.

In 1840, Annie and Calvin were in their 20s and late teens. Another daughter, Mariette had been born by that time and was only ten. Susannah must’ve needed to shield them from their dad. She wanted the account to survive but she likely didn’t want Bradley to come down on the entire family.

James was amazed at the proliferation of journals, diaries, and memoirs these Wexler people kept. This was the third spot one could find a journal of Susannah’s, the other places being Joan’s stash and the diary in Susannah’s hope chest. 

He turned the page and there were notes on day-to-day things like the accounting of money and important things in the Wexler family. Important goings-on. 

“Just more useless shit,” James said, and went to finish going to the back of the book when a little note fell out:

“November 8, 1832

Dear Madam,

Your daughter Annie is doing better here at Charleston Girls Academy. But she is still insistent about her little play friend that no one can see. I am afraid this kind of make believe is unhealthy to Christian girls and we need to have a doctor visit her. With your approval we would like to begin curing your daughter. I can only see the outcome of the failure to secure this child’s sanity as something terrible indeed. Please correspond within 2 weeks.

Ms. June Porter, Headmistress”

 

“Oh gawd, that poor little girl was probably screwed in the head by this quack,” James said, folding the note up. 

 

\- Flashback, May 1832 –

 

Annie is sitting in her room at Charleston Girls. All the other little girls are outside playing in the sunshine but she is doing her usual activity; playing alone, drawing, and singing to herself. The headmistress has noticed that the child keeps to herself too much, a behavior that she believes will need to be broken, lest Annie becomes ostracized and a spinster in later life. If you don’t mold girls carefully now, they could become tragic women, like the female poets the headmistress has heard about. Annie should be amusing herself with girls and sewing. She refused to do both and only wanted to talk to the man another little girl claims to have been visiting Annie.

“Annie, my true little niece,” Nicky said, crouching and kissing her head, “what business have you gotten yourself into, today?”

She would turn and smile, hugging her uncle. A little girl named Lydia could see Nicky, too. Lydia was a sickly girl and only at the Charleston Girls Academy for a short while later until she moved back home. She was at first scared of Annie’s uncle but found herself gazing at him as he came to visit. She knew it wasn’t right, how he would come out of the wall with no door in sight and then leave the same way. Lydia asked Annie about this and Annie shrugged her shoulders. Lydia appeared to be the only one who saw Nicky do this, his niece never saw it happen or accepted this as reality. Nicky would visit Annie for a few minutes and then leave, sometimes smiling at Lydia. She didn’t tell the headmistress about this at first, but after she wet her bed and the headmistress questioned Lydia, she became scared and claimed it was because she saw a man. This was a lie but Lydia didn’t want the headmistress to be mad at her. Annie told Lydia the headmistress could never stop Nicky from coming to see her and went back to drawing once they were alone again.

 

James read some more items in Susannah’s diary. He then noticed a hole in the floorboards in a more darkened area under the stairs. It was just under the hollow area where he retrieved the book from. In looking down he saw that the hole was actually over a wide open basement type space. 

“Holy shit…is that another level?” he said out loud and started busting out the floor with his hammer.

“James!!” Hope yelled, coming up behind him, “What the fuck are you doing to the woodwork?!”

James turned, “Here…hold this book…that I just found,” he said, giving her a sarcastic look telling her he was onto something.

Hope crouched and James made a big enough hole to drop down into, “I am going down there!”

“Be careful, damn it!” Hope warned him.

James shimmied through the hole and found the basement space was really a tiny room with a few workman’s tools, as if the stuff was left there in 1825 when the house was finished. He took the flashlight he had in his pocket and shined it around. “It smells like thousand year old mud down here!” he called out.

He ran the flashlight carefully in the dark space. It gave him the creeps, but something told him that little area under the stairs was meant to be secret. He shined his flashlight into a far corner and saw what looked like a different color of mud covering on the wall. Going over to it with the hammer he started to pull back the hardened mud. There was another box in there. A shoebox-sized metal one almost like the one they found in the woods with Susannah’s initials on it. This one looked cruder but had no initials. It was heavy and James became excited. He hurriedly opened the box and his eyes widened.

“Hope!! Get the fuck down here!!” he yelled.

Hope scurried and shimmied down the hole, “What?!!”

“Look!” he held the box in front of him, shining the flashlight into it. In the box were probably a hundred gold pieces and a tiny sack of something else in it.  
Hope grabbed the sack and opened the contents into her hand; three rings, a ruby one, a diamond ring, and an opal one. 

“HOLY SHIT!” Hope yelled.

James started jumping around all crazy, “We’re rich, bitch!!”

Hope and James hurriedly climbed out of the hole. “How the hell did no one find this earlier?!” Hope exclaimed. “This may definitely save the house!!”

“I dunno…I mean, how often did Miss Benita get on her hands and knees and look around in dark crevasses?” True. Miss Benita was a heavy southern lady who didn’t seem too interested in scavenging in her own home. She had money at the time and didn’t need to find things like this, which she obviously didn’t know existed anyways.

“Joan can save the house, Hope!” James said.

“If this is enough then yes,” Hope said, trying to be reasonable.

“Girl! How can this not…that looks like a lot of money there!”

Hope agreed but a house and property of this magnitude needed more money than what may be there. How were they going to price it? Joan needed to keep it quiet and be discreet. She needed to hire an attorney.

“We are celebrating tonight, Hopeless!” James said, kidding Hope with the nickname he sometimes gave her. 

He ran over to the iPod that had been playing in the parlor and turned it up Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over” was the next song. He put the box down and grabbed Hope and twirled her around and then they danced like they were at the prom, laughing like kids and being goofy. James dipped Hope and when she was down in the dip he said, “Oh crap, my back……just kidding!”

They didn’t notice Nicky standing there in the hall watching them. He glowered at them. 

James kissed Hope on the cheek in a friendly gesture and when he looked up, Nicky startled him, and he fell backwards over the coffee table, knocking everything over.

Hope stood there frozen. Nicky was so off and on with when he chose to reveal himself. In his ghostly non-dream state he seemed to have less power to pull off materializing because once again he looked like he was coming through a filter. His eyes were dark and he looked ticked. 

James just stared at him wide-eyed and slowly stood up. Nicky glared at him and then looked at Hope, his eyes softening only a bit. James was quiet but taken with the beauty that was Nicky Wexler. But he was also scared he was going to be killed next so he backed away and stood behind Hope.

“Who is he?” Nicky said, coming closer, his eyes dead and questioning Hope. His face was very close to hers and he looked down at her.

She looked at his chest, covered in the frock coat he usually wore and then looked up. She had been stunned by this waking arrival and she tried to find the words. Apparently he thought James as a suitor of some sort.

“Nicky, this is James…a friend of mine who…”

Nicky’s eyes moved from Hope to James. “Hi…hi, Nicky. Nicholas,” James said nervously.

The ghost just looked at him and James wasn’t sure if he should just go ahead and pee his pants right there or faint. James was both amazed at what he was seeing, intrigued, and very scared. 

“Nicky…” Hope said softly after noticing he was staring at James too long, his jaw clenched in quiet anger. “Nicky….” She reached out and touched his chest; cold and hard. He looked at her finally. “James is only a friend…a friend who has a…suitor. We are friends.”

She didn’t know how to explain James to Nicky and wasn’t about to try. She reached out to touch Nicky’s face and he closed his eyes, leaning his head to the side into her touch. 

A car door slammed outside making both Hope and James jump, startling them out of their rapture. They looked outside and saw Joan coming up to the house. By the time both of them turned their heads back a split second later, Nicky had disappeared.

James, being himself and not missing a beat announced, “Yep. Totally pissed my pants.”

Hope shook her head and went to greet Joan.


	16. Love

They rushed outside to greet Joan and showed her what they found. Joan nearly fell back against the car in shock.

“I need to get to the bank! This has to go in the safety deposit box!” she said and they left in Joan’s car for the bank. In the car she told them there was nothing under her house but no one seemed to care anymore and neither did Joan. 

James told her he saw Nicky for the first time and Joan was further amazed, “What the heck was going on in there? Treasure-finding and seeing ghosts? What’s he like, James?” She had heard about Hope’s encounters, except for the more intimate contact, and was wishing on one hand that she could see him but scared on the other.

“He is um….something else,” James said, “Definitely a great-looking man, I mean, when he showed up I was like ‘Hey, girl,” he went on. Hope shook her head. Only James. He continued, “But he was fucking scary and thought Hope and I were a thing just because we had been dancing. I guess Nicky doesn’t have gaydar.”

“James, I doubt they had it back then,” Hope said, laughing. She then started thinking about how dark Nicky looked when he saw Hope and James together. He was a force to be reckoned with, she bet, when he was mad. He was so stormy. She was turned on by what happened and smiled to herself. 

 

After they deposited the contents of the box, they went home to Joan’s. Hope was going to need to start making preparations next week to go home. That meant leaving Wexler House and leaving Nicky. She almost didn’t want to point him on his way and she knew this was unfair to him. Keeping him earthbound was wrong and she couldn’t keep holding onto him. When the time came, how was she going to release him?

That night she was reading through Susannah’s diaries and loose notes. She wrote a lot about her daughter seeing Nicky in her diaries and how Susannah longed to see her brother for so long, too. Hope looked in the passages to see if she could find an account of Susannah or her sisters seeing Nicky, but she couldn’t find anything. Did she see Nicky, too? How about Bradley? Something was making him go mad.

 

\- Flashback, October 1841 -

Bradley Wexler was leaving a tavern at night in the town of Knightsville. He was a little tipsy and had just felt up every one of the obedient girls who served at the place. They knew they couldn’t say anything or Bradley would have them ruined; he was incredibly wealthy and the tavern owner wanted his business and the clientele he brought in with him. 

He had left Wexler House after getting into an argument with Susannah, who was now older and not as pretty as Bradley liked. He told her she looked like an ugly dried up cow and announced since he wasn’t getting pleasured by her anymore he was going into town to taste a few women. She told him she no longer cared and told him he was a horrible man. He back-handed her so hard she fell up against a highboy in her Sewing Room and dented one of the doors. He laughed, but was annoyed that she didn’t cry anymore, she just clutched her side and slowly rose. He hit her again just because she annoyed him with this newfound strength and had left for Knightsville.

It was cold out, unseasonably cold for mid Autumn in South Carolina. He was outside in the dark, untethering his horse from the post in front of the tavern, the only light was from candles inside and a few flames outside. Out the corner of his eye he saw a single horse trot out into the middle of the muddy street. He turned and noticed it was a sleek beautiful black horse. It had no saddle, no one on it. It neighed at him and then turned around and went back into the darkness down the road. Bradley got a chill because things had been so weird lately. He was going mad, he knew it, but didn’t want it to be known to the townspeople. He’d just buy them off anyways, he snickered.

When the horse went into the darkness, he immediately saw a man coming from where the horse disappeared. Bradley narrowed his eyes to see the man, who was wearing an old-fashioned frock coat. Bradley rubbed his eyes and then he immediately inhaled in fright. He hurriedly got on the horse and then started off at a fast gallop in the other direction, which did not lead towards home.

The cold air whipping at Bradley’s face and the dark road towards Conroy, SC was making him freak out even more. “Hah!!! Hah!!” he whipped the horse’s rump and was meaning to ride the beast until it collapsed to Conroy so he could take shelter in an inn he knew of there. He had taken a slave girl out back there and ruined her one night, so he knew the place was two hours away.

Only ten minutes into his ride there the horse reared and threw Bradley off. He screamed at the horse and threw his whip at it. The horse galloped away, back into Knightsville. Bradley was now in total darkness, save for the low full moon that was coming through the trees. He heard the rush of fabric coming down the street from a silk frock coat. He was frozen with absolute fear. Turning his head slowly and looking behind him he saw a sight that stopped his heart; his dead brother-in-law heading towards him, about two house-distances away, a look of pure anger and death on his face. 

Bradley tried to run, but Nicky was gaining on him and he was not tiring like Bradley was. Nicky’s coat flared out and his eyes were blood red as he smoothly walked down the road. Despite Bradley’s running and Nicky walking, the latter was able to catch up with him once they got to the Knightsville-Conroy Bridge.

Nicky grinned at Bradley with a face that made all the blood drain from Bradley’s face. A voice inside Bradley’s head sounded like Nicky, “You are a dead man, Bradley Wexler.”

As Nicky got closer Bradley could see a darkness in Nicky’s eyes that was otherworldly. A rope was tied to the side of the bridge and all of a sudden the noose at the other end was around Bradley’s neck. The sound of frogs and hoot owls in the dark forest below the bridge provided a haunted cacophony. 

As Bradley was standing there facing Nicky, he saw his brother-in-law’s face change to something even more sinister. “Here is where you rid the world of your wretchedness, Bradley,” Nicky said, the voice coming from everywhere. 

Bradley was in a daze and was no longer in control. He nodded for a second. Nicky smiled at him and patted his shoulder, “This is for my sister.” 

And with that Bradley fell back over the side of the bridge, hanging himself, feet dangling and kicking the last breath of life out of him. Nicky had left before he could see Bradley’s death throes and was already on his way back to Wexler House.

Three minutes later, Susannah was in her bedroom hugging Mariette before the child went to her own room for bed, “Mama, are you okay?” she asked.

Susannah looked down and smiled despite being in pain, “Mama is fine, my dear one,” and she kissed Mariette’s head. Mariette then went to go to bed but came back into her mother’s room.

“Mama…there is a man downstairs. He wants to see you. He’s dressed funny,” she said.

Susannah was chilled to the bone. Who could be downstairs at this hour and not be a family member?

Mariette and Susannah walked down the stairs, Susannah with extreme trepidation, afraid of what she believed to be down there. She knew Annie had always seen him and so did Calvin, but what if he is now down there waiting for her? What would she say?

Sure enough, she saw an almost fading Nicky Wexler standing in the hallway, looking up at her. She cried out and put her hand to her mouth. She ran down the stairs and up to her brother. She hugged him but he felt cold as ice. He smiled at her, but it was the saddest smile she had ever seen in her life. He studied her face for a bit and she his. 

“It is done, my dear sister, it is done,” she heard him say, his lips parting only a little.

She reached out for him but he faded completely.

 

Hope was out cold after reading a few things in Susannah’s book. 

 

“Hope….”

Nicky’s voice.

He was standing at the foot of the bed in his loose white shirt and long black breeches. She went to sit up and he could see that she was wearing the same small silken nightie she had worn the last time. His head was cocked to the side and he smiled at her, soft eyes, beautiful, worn lips. The long nose that slightly flared out at the nostrils. His clavicle and chest were exposed with the loose shirt and she just wanted to kiss it.

Getting in bed with her he pulled her up against him. Green eyes. Or hazel? Gray. They were gray. She was in love with his ever-changing colors and wondered if they were like that in life.

“Nicky…we found something in the house…we can save it.”

“Not now, Hope. I want to save you, first.”

He rolled over on top of her. She definitely felt it.

“Nicky…” she couldn’t stop talking, “Nicky, I am of relation to Nancy Bourdeaux.” There she said it. He just looked down at her, his body fitted with hers in a tight snuggle. His soft eyes betrayed a slight sorrow.

He then smiled, running his hand over her cheek, down her neck, and splaying his hand across her heart. He felt the lively rhythm and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them, “I can feel her in you, my sweet love.”

With that he kissed her deeply, their bodies beginning to move slowly against one another. Hope then wondered if they could actually have sex…what would it feel like in a dream where he was so real. She felt him now, felt his heavy frame, his thick readiness between his legs, nudged deeply up against her inner thighs. 

“Nicky, please make love to me,” she said.

There was no fumbling of clothes, no having to pull panties down, no having to position oneself to accept a lover, for the next thing she knew, Nicky pushed into her and they were one without any pauses. Moving slowly together their eyes met and locked. In his eyes she saw a world open up. His brow furrowed and his lips parted showing those teeth again. For what seemed like an hour he moved in her, kissing her lips so softly, her jawline, her neck.

“I feel your heartbeat down there,” he whispered. Hope smiled, almost being pushed to the point of crying. She found her release finally and it pulled Nicky in, his heavy breath in her ear as he came, too. 

She couldn’t believe it; Nicky Wexler had given her an orgasm.

Her dream lasted all night long as they slowly and heartbreakingly made love to one another. He knew what to do and when to do it. He was neither kinky nor boring. He was just beautiful. She hoped with all her heart that this was real and not just her imagination.

“Nicky…please tell me you are really here,” she whispered into his ear, her hands on his back.

He answered her back, moving to kiss her, breathing into her mouth, “Yes…we are a part of each other…..you and me, Hope.”

She rolled under him and sighed contentedly. She never wanted to wake up.


	17. Love II

Hope and Nicky made love to each other for a gloriously long time. She was thankful for the dream as there was no way in real waking life that this could happen, Hope was sure of this. His method was strong, steady, and unyielding; because this was a dream and there were no limits here. Hope felt like she could somewhat control what was going on. Was he really here? He had to be. She just knew it with every fiber of her being that this was Nicky inside her, moving in her, gazing down at her.

He pleased her again and again. Moving deeply inside her, pushing Hope into the headboard when he became more intense. He would be into his work about ready to loose it when he’d hold himself up with those strong arms, his head going back, chest heaving and let out a long releasing moan, signaling he was cumming hard. Hope would sometimes come again just from seeing that and feeling him contract and explode into her. 

The dream was an endless stream of ache…build…release….ache….build…release, again and again.

“This is me, this is you….” He’d breathe in her ear, “This is us…..this is…..” he’d cum again.

She would shake and respond, barely able to move, “Nicky, never go.” They would clasp their fingers, their bodies connected, intertwined. 

Towards the end, Nicky held her, spooning her up against his body.

“How will I ever let you go?” Hope softly said.

Nicky was quiet for a moment, “I don’t know. I feel the same.”

“I wish it could be different. I wish I had lived back then, or you now,” Hope started to tear up and Nicky sensed it. He turned her around to face him.

“Shhhh…it is just how it is, my sweet one,” he said, closing his eyes and kissing his head. He had to admit he didn’t know how he’d move on, either, but he was feeling a strange pull of some type lately. A pull towards the other world. Heaven? He knew that Hope would set his record straight now, clear his name, save the home. He knew that strange man he saw with Hope had found something of value. The rings his sisters had were put away by Benita, the descendent of his he could never fully get through to. Benita had wanted to hang onto those things forever, and had stashed them away under the stairs. They only had real value to his family at the time, and now all the Wexlers were no more. They should be sold.

A diamond ring for Bethany.

A ruby ring for Ursula.

A beautiful, multicolored, ever-changing opal ring for Susie. 

His parents had bought the rings from jewelers in Paris. They were worth a lot of money. A lot more than Hope may have realized. The stones were the rarest of their kind.

Hope was the rarest of her kind. 

“Hope. The groundskeeper’s granddaughter needs to sell those items the young man…James…found. They are worth more than you realize. Sell them, keep the house in her name, clear my name…I don’t care how you do it. Make the people of your time realize what happened. Tell them all.”

She nodded, tears streaming.

“I am not leaving you yet, sweet girl…but it is soon. Restore my family and my name. Do this Hope, and I live here forever through this house. Do this…”

His thick lips were on hers again and she kissed him back in earnest.

“I will Nicky.”

“You will see me again shortly, I promise…I promise.”

The alarm went off and Nicky was gone.


	18. Time

Hope told Joan and James that Nicky visited her last night, leaving out the part about them making love. She told Joan that the items in the metal box were worth a lot of money and added that she needs to get them deposited and get an attorney. The Wexler house was pretty much left open and no one really claimed the land since it was in a remote area. Joan needed to claim it under her name, have Mike help her fix it up, and possibly open the thing to visitors. The money would save the place for a long time, but it needed to be a part of the parks system. It needed to be considered important because of the amazing history and story that went on here. People would drive out of the way on their way to Charleston to see the place, Hope was sure of it. It would be slow-going at first, but it would definitely be considered and put on the list of National Historic Places once Hope got to work.

She needed to write down everything, of course keeping the elaborate ghost story out of it. Let the people think there are rumored ghosts there, but don't go into detail about anything further; no one would buy it. And keep those crazy ghost hunting groups from trying to set up shop and see what's inside. The house needed to be respected as a living tribute to the entire Wexler family and their descendants. 

Mostly, her experience with Nicky needed to be safe in her heart, away from rebuke.

 

There were only four more days for James and Hope to be in Wexler before they had to be back on the road to W&M for Fall semester preparations. Hope made a promise to Joan that they would keep in touch and she would visit every 4 months. James showed Joan how to get online and put a profile on a social networking site. Within hours Joan had friended Hope, James, Mike, Yesenia, Cecily, Mrs. Ford down the street, the Elvis' Ladies group, and her niece Jessica in New Bern, NC. 

Joan and Mike met with an attorney that they both went to high school with, Leroy Simonds, who was someone they could trust. Leroy set Joan up with a special fund for the house, specific instructions on what to do with the money, should Joan pass away (it all goes to the house and to people to look after it), and several other safeguards to make sure no one comes up out of the blue to claim the place, or plow it down to make a subdivision. 

Hope was going to take with her all the Wexler diaries, notes, letters, and other writings so she could make sure the history is properly documented. She went back to the Blue Creek County Library so she and James could finish getting all of the archives backed up. It took them a whole other day to finish this. 

On the second to last day, Hope madly worked on a 30-page report detailing what she knew from the records and diaries about Nicky being innocent, being careful to leave out anything communicated to her in a dream and the run-ins with ghosts, seances, and house-excorcising. 

That night, Hope, James, Joan, and Mike all went out to dinner to say goodbye and toast to the good fortune that had shined upon Wexler House once more. Mike excused himself from the table to go talk to an old friend he saw and the three left at the table opened up. 

"You know Joan, none of this would've been possible without you putting up with us," Hope said smiling at her now lifelong friend.

Joan laughed, too, putting down her glass of wine, "Hope, I only had to put up with James, not you," and she winked at James.

"Very funny, Miss Joan," he said, acting like he was mad and then grinning. 

"Course," Joan added, "None of this would be really possible without Nicky," she said, smiling with a twinkle in her eye.

Hope got a faraway look. She gazed out the window into the night. Tomorrow was it. "I know Joan. God, do I know it."

 

It was going to break Hope's heart.

 

The next morning Hope and James were packed and ready to go. The rental car was jammed with boxes marked SUSANNAH, NICKY, OTHER and Joan had provided them a cooler with homemade pies, cookies, and on top of it some special gift for Cecily. Herman was barking because he knew some of the food was being put in the car and he wouldn't get it, "Oh, shoosh, you crazy little man!" Joan said to her canine companion and he quieted only to bark once more to top her.

They decided to walk up to the House instead of drive. It was a 10 minute walk from Joan's house to the main house, but they felt it was just a better way to go since Hope was going to say goodbye, showing Nicky the document she wrote. Hope was secretly scared he wouldn't show and she wouldn't be able to say goodbye. He was finicky about when he showed up. Would she have to take a nap, for Chrissakes? Everything was so up in the air. A ghost didn't have a schedule, she reasoned. 

The branches of the tall grand oaks swayed and their moss moved in the breeze, creating a beautiful scene as the three walk down the road. A dove could be heard calling to another in the trees and squirrels ran and chased each other down, making noise when they saw the people. Around the bend of the road Wexler House came into view. Hope felt a tinge of anxiety coarse through her as she realized this would be her last time with Nicky Wexler, ever. No more dreams, no more kisses. No more feeling him inside her, his heartbeat mixed with hers. She felt her cheeks blush. James was looking at her and grinned; he knew her so well. They finally stopped in front of the house and Hope stood there for a second and then broke down, sobbing hard, "I can't do it.....Don't make me do it," she cried as she turned into Joan, who started to hold her. James started to tear up, too, and the three of them held each other, Joan acting like a calming mother figure, "Shhhh...honey, Nicky wants this...he needs this. Honey, he needs to see his family...be with God." Hope continued to cry and so did James. Hope and Joan were holding each other and so caught up in Hope's upset that they didn't see what James was seeing; Nicky was at the open door, standing there, fully materialized and looking at them. "Umm...Hope, Miss Joan..." he said to them, "Look." Hope looked up and so did Joan. Nicky stood there, just a few yards away from them, looking just as beautiful as he always did. Long frock coat, black breeches, light brown-red hair, long sideburns...the light eyes that were soft and incredible to stare into for an hour. Hope felt her heart skip a beat. His full lips slowly curved into a smile and he just gazed at her, killing her more with a look of "I love you."

Joan was in complete shock, "Nicholas Wexler?" she said, finally getting to see him. It had been almost fifty years. He looked over at her and his acknowledgement of her made her weak. 

He walked up to them, and they to him. They stood there looking at each other, the three in amazement. Although Hope was used to seeing Nicky, she was still always thrown off balance by him. Joan was silenced by his beauty, and then he addressed her, "The granddaughter..."

"...Joan Bishop," she finally was able to get out. 

He nodded and reached out his hand. Joan slowly held her hand out, transfixed by him. He was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Nicky took her hand and kissed it and held it for a second in his. 

"Mr. Nicholas, I have always wanted to see you...when I was a little girl I would always hope you'd talk to me like you did Miss Benita," she said, her eyes wide.

"Joan," he said softly, "It would've scared you too much. I could tell. You weren't ready for it." Joan nodded and agreed. She was an adventurous child, but admittedly skittish and prone to nightmares. Her grandfather always wanted to shield her from it, but she kept looking for Nicky, against her better judgement. Nicky knew.

"You saw me as a little girl?" Joan asked, amazed at this person that was always in her past, like a parent nearby.

"Yes, Joan. Remember when you tried to build a little house in the trees? There was a weak branch...had you climbed up on it, it would've collapsed and you would've been hurt. I knocked over something in the parlor so your grandfather would come downstairs and see you out the window. He was very sore with you that day."

"Oh my God," Joan said and looked over at the area where the grandest oak had once been. She remembered a huge vase busting in the parlor, although no one had been in there at the time. Her grandfather had to have the oak taken down and it's stump burned out because it was so rotten inside. She remembered trying to make a tree house with Mike and her friend Patsy back then and getting her butt whipped by her grandfather for trying to scale the tree. She would've fallen from that branch and broken several bones.

Nicky smiled at her. She couldn't believe it. Nicky not only knew about all this time her but saved her. "Thank you," she said, her eyes watery. His smile was so sweet Joan's heart melted.

Nicky then turned to James and nodded his head as a gentleman. James nodded back. Nicky was no longer mad at him, it seemed.

Now turning to Hope he looked into her eyes with the most bittersweet smile she'd ever seen. They just stared at each other as if communicating something.

"James...let's head back home," Joan said and they began to walk, leaving Hope with Nicky. 

After Joan and James were around the bend of the trees, Nicky spoke, coming closer to Hope, and putting his forehead to hers.

"My sweet girl," he breathed, his eyes closed. Hope closed her eyes slowly after trying to steal as much vision of him as she could. They held hands tight between their chests, his thumb rubbing the front of her hand, "I know it is time for you to leave...and I must go, too....finally."

"Nicky," she started crying again, despite trying to keep her composure, "I....I....have written a document here....." she then started sobbing, and dropped the thing and held onto him, squeezing him so hard she wanted to crush him into her. His arms encircled her, holding her tight. He rocked her and she felt his hitched breath in her ear, "Hope....oh God," he stammered, "My heart is breaking....the very heart I thought was gone."

Hope sobbed hard, wracking, and shaking hard. He just held her and said, "Don't cry Hope....I am always here...always in your heart and I am carrying you back with me."

He went to kneel down to pick up the document and Hope went down with him. He was now holding her, sitting on the ground, the only sound were the wind in the trees and in the moss. The wildlife was still and no birds were calling.

"Nicky....I....I want you to know I've written this....it explains everything. Everyone will now know you didn't kill anyone, your brother-in-law staged it, he killed you, and how good your intentions were with everything in life...Nicky it clears you. Joan will....Joan will keep the house alive. It is saved," she said, breaking up.

Nicky was looking down at the document and then back up at her. His eyes, which seemed incapable of tears, were streaming with them now. 

He then started to laugh, which at first confused Hope, "God...Hope...you realize I can now go home? I can be with my family. For so long....." he swallowed, and looked deep into her eyes, "....for so long I have been tied to this land, this house...because I couldn't accept how my life was cut short. It killed my spirit. I lingered for so long....God....I saw my Susannah grow old and die. I saw her children, Calvin...Annie...Mariette...visit, very old...and then when they never came back, I knew..." he was weeping hard for the passage of time, a bystander who watched his entire family die off, "...I saw their children come and go, die, come and go...die. And finally with Benita. I thought I could reach her..."

Hope was holding his face, running her fingers across his jaw so lightly.

"...Hope, you saved me. You....you are so special to me...."

She was crying and he was so bleary to her, he held her face now, "...Hope, I will never ever ever forget you. And when we meet again....."

"Oh Nicky..." she was bawling.

"...And when we meet again, I will see you. I will know you."

He then started to fade. This was different than any other time he went...this was it.

"Nicky?!"

"Hope."

"Nicky!!!"

"I love..."

"OH MY GOD!!!" she was scrambling to hold onto him but he was no longer there, just a light fading mist. 

"NICKY!!!!!!"


	19. Dr. Adam Lorimer

Hope sat there, crying for Nicky. A cool breeze had caressed her face and then faded immediately after he had left. Through her bleary eyes she searched all around her, looking at the house, looking towards the clearing, looking at the trees to see if maybe Nicky would return to her somehow. Maybe this was all just temporary she thought, maybe he'd still be in her dreams.

Maybe she would go mad with the want. He had ruined her for other men, she felt. There was no way she could ever feel a love so powerful and encompassing as Nicky Wexler's love for her. It was a heartbreaking, sweet love that held her as the most important thing in his world. The way he looked at her was like no other man had ever looked at her before; through her, inside her, at her thoughts and dreams. His slow burning desire for her was all she wanted. That and him to make love to her once more like he had..a never ending series of her body breaking against a beach, her excitement in waves. Nicky could never be replaced. Never.

Joan had returned for her and helped her up. Hope cleaned herself off, and said, "I'm going home," in a weak voice.

 

The car ride back to Richmond was a quiet one. Hope gazed out the window, lost, not looking at anyone or anything in particular. Poor James tried to make conversation every once in a while but it was no use. Hope just closed her eyes and slept a sleep without any visitors in her dreams, no sign of Nicky.

 

***

Two days later.

 

"Hope, you always love these Welcome Back functions, snap outta it," James said as he and Hope were heading into the vast conference hall at William and Mary. It was a week prior to Fall semester, the biggest semester of all, and all of the professors and administrators would meet for a day long luncheon and get to know some of the new faculty. Hope was still a lower rung professor, but the dean had talked to her about the work she had done at Wexler and was very interested in helping her set up a team of historians to visit the place next year. Her little 30 page document was intriguing. She had told the family history as best as she could and explained the importance of the site and the roll it played in helping turn Knightsville into Wexler. Hope's document covered everything, except the ghosts, seances, and of course nothing about Nicky's visits to her. In fact, the only two people who knew that Nicky visited Hope in her dreams were Joan and James, and all they knew was she got to talk to him. Nothing was ever elaborated on, no details provided except what he told her about searching for gold. They knew nothing of how he talked to her, how he made her feel, and what he did to her that one night. Joan and James just knew she loved him dearly, but never pried. It was Hope's business and the story would remain in her heart forever with Nicky.

"Girl, are you even listening to me?" James said as they opened the door to the grand conference center. Immediately they saw hundreds of faculty members, professors, administrators, deans, and assistant professors from all the Colleges under William and Mary. A couple of the history department professors approached them and congratulated Hope on her finds out at Wexler.

They were going to be introducing 20 more professors that afternoon. Some professors had moved on to different schools or retired. The Psychology department had 1 new professor that a lot of people had been talking about prior to the function; Dr. Adam Lorimer. He came from Duke and was an incredibly gifted academic who as a teen seen his life change and flip upside down. He had apparently lost his parents in a horrific bus accident. He was one of only a few people in the bus to survive, which was being driven by an inexperienced driver on a South American trip with his parents. The bus flipped and went down a ravine. The story was horrible and Lorimer woke up in a hospital in Venezuela not knowing who he was. It was amnesia and the doctors there tested him again and again, thinking the teen was faking. After being flown back home to live with his grandparents in Boston, the truth was evident; he had no knowledge of anything prior to the accident, he neither wept for his parents nor asked for them. He just was. 

The following years saw him become somewhat of a cold person. He himself had to undergo psychiatric treatment that he wrote about later in a book. He described the state of mental institutions to be pure hell and he started a mission to change them. He cared about mental patients, and some say little else. He could talk plainly to them, which soothed them. He didn't get too emotional, which surprisingly helped. He understood and showed empathy, but was able to turn it off and focus on the problems at hand. He could fix patients and strangely, a lot of it had to do with his matter-of-fact nature, which many an anxious psych patient found different. He could look outside the box and help them focus, taking their mind off the problems that held them down for so long, problems they wasted time on. 

He was also rumored to be somewhat an asshole. 

The three hundred people in the conference center took their seats and Dr. West, the president of William and Mary took to the podium and welcomed everyone back, saying, "Let's meet our new profressors!" Everyone clapped and the professors came from out of the front row and onto the stage, about 20 of them and they all took their seats. Hope was shorter than a lot of the people sitting in front of her and she tried to move her head to see everyone. She recognized a law professor she knew a few years back, Marcy Keller, and she was happy because Marcy and her had always gotten along so well. Her eyes went to a series of non-descript men and women after that, and to Xiao Tan, one of the Chinese professors everyone was buzzing about besides Dr. Lorimer. That reminded her, she wanted to see which one was Lorimer, who was supposedly so great and such a jerk that it blended into some kind of new rogue super professor. She rolled her eyes at the thought but she looked down the row of faces and couldn't see all the way. She then gave up and just figured she'd wait for him to be introduced.

Dr. West went through everyone and apparently Lorimer was supposed to be last, "And finally, a man who needs no introduction, Dr. Adam Lorimer," everyone clapped and she saw Lorimer stand and walk to the podium. He smiled out into the audience and a very familiar face was now revealed.

The looks on Hope and James' faces were priceless. James' jaw dropped and he wondered if this was a joke, but he didn't remember taking any of the pills he got from Cecily. 

Hope covered her mouth and her eyes were wide open. Her heart started to beat and her ears felt red hot like she was shocked; Adam Lorimer was the living, breathing image of Nicholas Allen Wexler. Born 1799, died 1827...or it depends, 2012. 

Hope got up and ran out of the conference room, clutching her cell phone as if she had to make an important phone call. James followed her. 

 

"Oh my God!!!" Hope said, running over to a planter to steady herself. James came up behind her, just as shaken.

"Girl...that can't be him. That's can't fucking be him! I mean, that is impossible!"

"James, I think....I think I am going to faint...." Hope said as she tried to walk, James following her.

"What are the fucking possibilities?! How the heck does a guy look so much like someone else?" James asked.

Hope sat down on the brick planter. She was looking down, trying to catch her breath, "I can't go back in there, James. This guy is some kind of imposter...this is cruel, James. This is cruel."

James looked at the door to the conference hall wanted to go back in so he could see more. "I gotta look, Hope. I mean...I gotta see him up close. Maybe it's just us. We're overwrought from all the silly shit that happened back in Wexler."

Hope nodded her head, then looked up, "Don't you dare call what happened in Wexler silly shit," she said, anger to her tone.

There had to be an explanation for this. Hope had seen people who looked a like many times before, but not like this. She had not published any close up photos of the paintings of the Wexler family. No one but her and James would be able to see the eerie resemblance, if anyone besides them even cared.

 

"Where are you going?" James called out to Hope after he turned away from the door, "Let's just go back in and see if we can enjoy ourselves."

Hope looked unsure. She knew her absence would be noted inside. Her boss would definitely note her absence and would probably sarcastically ask her later if she thought she had better things to do than to meet the new faculty.

James coaxed Hope back inside, "Come on, Hopeless. It's just a huge coincidence," he said reassuringly.

 

At the end of the conference, everyone had trickled outside. Hope saw Lorimer talking to a group of women who looked like they were all to eager to hang on everything he said. They were laughing about something and Hope then caught Lorimer look at her. No recognition at all flashed in his eyes. He looked right through her at a man who was walking a few feet behind her. Lorimer waved at the man and then went right back to talking to the women. This was jarring. This was a face that had looked down into Hope's, his body moving against hers in quiet agony. She snapped out of it. This man was no Nicky Wexler. 

Hope decided to not introduce herself, knowing it was just too soon. She later found out his office would be in her same building, down the hall. She would have to get over herself and stop seeing what she wanted to see. 

It would be a long, hard semester if she didn't move on.


	20. Meeting Adam

Hope got so busy with preparing the four classes she was teaching that she never had a chance to talk to Adam Lorimer. She saw him one time at the end of the hall talking to a few students but that was it. They kept the same hours and were therefore in class at about the same time. Hope and James would always eat lunch in her office and Marcy Keller would join them and they'd talk about the latest reality TV craze, this time the pageant mom show. They were sitting there in the office on a Thursday evening laughing, Hope realizing she really needed to get back to work on grading essays when a knock came to her door. Absentmindedly she said, "Come in..." and Adam opened the door.

"Hey, you guys," he said coming in. He was wearing a thin black sweater and khakis. He looked like half stud half teacher. His face made the blood from Hope's drain. She quickly turned her head, acting like she was getting something out of her desk drawer.

"Hey, Adam," Marcy said. "Are you ready to go?" James just stared at him. He was 100% Nicky alright. It was seriously creepy, the resemblance. 

"Certainly," he smiled slightly. Apparently Marcy and Adam were going somewhere together. Hope, not wanting to be rude any longer, but making herself think of something funny so she wouldn't tear up, started to laugh nervously like a schoolgirl.

She was trying to remember the funniest thing she knew of, which was the night she and James went out to a club several years ago; a drunk woman was on the dance floor, she spun, and then passed out. That was funny and the image still made Hope laugh. It helped.

"Pfffffffff!" Hope sputtered, laughing. Adam looked at her funny with a furrowed brow. James looking nervous then jumped in, "We're sorry, we were just watching something funny online."

Adam gave this whatever look but then realized he needed to introduce himself, "I'm sorry, is it Hope Griffiths?" he asked looking her square in the face. 

Hope stopped being silly and then answered, the sound of him talking was nothing like Nicky. He had a Boston cadence to his voice, nothing like the sweet slight drawl that Nicky possessed. Adam was scaring her. She still was having trouble talking to him, but knew if she wanted to remain sane, she'd have to engage in pleasant conversation.

"Yes, I am she," she said, standing to shake his hand. She wanted to put her all into it and force the normalness into the situation.

He smiled and then said, "You're teaching......excuse me, what is it you teach?" 

How could he not know? Hope was on his same floor and she knew everything he taught. His lack of knowledge of all things Hope was a little disturbing to her. She wanted him to at least say he'd read her work. Something.

"I teach Civil War and Reconstruction, Jeffersonian Era Political History, and American History I and II," she said.

He nodded, "Your basics, except for the Jefferson one, correct?" 

Hope was mad that he put it like that, but he was correct. He made her sound like just some freshman/sophomore handler. He was the big bad Psychology darling.

Thankfully Marcy butted in,"Hey, you guys want to join us? We're going to that new tapas place."

James and Hope looked at one another. Was this a good idea? Sitting in a place with an elitist version of Nicky?

Hope then thought about it and realized this man wasn't even close enough to her Nicky in demeanor. It would be okay.

 

They got to the tapas place at about 6 pm. The place was very nice and very trendy. They all sat in the back while ambient music and intermittent jazz would play. Adam was interested in telling Marcy how wrong she was about something about the death penalty. The argument got heated for a second, with James jumping in. Hope listened and watched. Adam pretty much ignored her and spent his time talking to Marcy, allowing James to put his two cents in. 

Adam saw that Hope wasn't talking much and then finally addressed her, "Hope, how long have you been an assistant professor at the College?" For some reason she could detect that he emphasized assistant. All he does is annoy, it seems.

"For a few years now," Hope said calmly. James was even lower on the totem pole but was fine with it for now. Plus he had only been doing what he was doing for a year. 

Adam just said, "Interesting," and reached for his tea. 

Hope just looked at him. 

"And do you care, Hope, to become a full-fledged member of the College?" he then asked. 

Who is this asshole?

"Yes, Adam. I want to. My mentor passed away a month ago, and that kind of put things on the back burner. I need time," She was glaring at him but he didn't register.

"It's definitely a hard job," he said, not making any kind of sincere apologies for her loss.

"I know that."

"I was happy to get in here, myself. I know it can be hard," he said, showing only a little bit of manners instead of ego. 

James then piped in, "So Adam, you don't recall anything from your childhood? Nothing?" 

Adam looked at James dead on, "No. It's all gone. I can only remember bits and pieces."

"That's got to suck," Hope couldn't help it, smirking.

Adam looked at her and his eyes betrayed a slight flash of anger. She was going to be a bitch to him now.

"Not really," he said. "Sometimes it's best to just move on." He stared right at Hope and she got up, grabbing her jacket and left.

 

James ran out of the tapas place, "Hope!"

"He's a prick! I felt like he was taking a jab at me....move on?! From what?! Hans' death?"

"Hope, he's a buffoon! Fuck him!" James said. 

Just then Adam came out of the tapas place, "Hey! You may want to come back inside and pay for your bill!"

Hope rounded on her heel and stormed back into the place.

"What is your problem?" Adam said, as Hope went up to the register to signal them to get hers and James' bill.

"Sorry, Marcy," Hope said. Marcy seemed amused by all of this. 

Hope was taking everything Adam said too much to heart. It was irking her that she had to deal with this guy, especially after having lost Hans and Nicky within a month's time. 

Hope got the bill and paid, going up to Adam, "See you later, Dr. Lorimer."

He just watched Hope and James head out the door.

 

The next day was Friday and the class load was light. Hope was in the staff break room of the Arts & Sciences department toasting a bagel. Most of the other professors had gone to class or their offices. She had her back turned to the door but had a reflection of whoever walked in. She saw Adam Lorimer do this that, almost reconsidering coming into the break room when he saw her. She looked down and acted like she didn't see that. 

Adam went over to the Keurig and made a coffee. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, Hope with an attitude face an Adam with a quietness. He looked at her a couple times and then spoke, "Sorry if I offended you yesterday."

The bagel halves popped up and she retrieved them, and then walked around Adam for the butter she left in her bag in the fridge. Adam had one hand on the counter and was looking at her, expecting her to answer him. She came back to her bagel and then turned to answer him, "Adam, I am just touchy lately. I've had a lot happen to me recently."

She finished buttering the bagels and put her stuff back into the fridge. Adam's coffee was done and he just stood there drinking it black. 

Hope couldn't believe how attractive this man was. It was like someone had plucked her Nicky out of 1827, cut his hair, shaved his sideburns, dressed him as Mr. Sexy Professor Ken and gave him a modern-day aloofness. He wasn't full of wonder and sweetness. He had killer good looks and a pretty good fashion sense. The only thing different about him that set him apart from looking exactly like Nicky were his eyes, which were brighter. He had the same swollen lips, long nose, one eyebrow that raised slightly more than the other. He was pretty but a typical guy from the modern world; no gentlemanly qualities that Nicky would've possessed.

Adam followed Hope to her office. She was kind of annoyed as he sat down in the chair James usually sat in, trying to break the ice hard with her, it appeared.

"I have to get back to work," Hope said.

Adam just looked at her. Looked deep at her. She felt something flutter inside her and remembered the long night she and Nicky spent together. She could still see Nicky's collarbone and chest in her face as he moved back and forth, grinding...

"Hope," Adam said.

She was still staring back but now through him.

"Hope?" he moved his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, trying to understand what is wrong with her.

"Nicky?"

He looked at her funny. Just then James showed up with some books and her gaze dropped, "Well man, doesn't the air seem thick in here?" James said as he barged in and dropped the books on the edge of Hope's desk. "There's a lot of shit in these books for the next lecture," he said.

Adam got up, "I better go back to my office," he said and then he left.

"What's up with him? Did you cuss him out?" James said, sitting down where Adam had been sitting, "Ooh, his ass was warm." 

Hope usually would've laughed but she was quiet now. She had accidentally called Adam Nicky and felt like a fool. She needed to get a grip.

 

Adam was back in his office. He shut the door to type up notes for his next lecture but he was tired. He had been up the prior evening until 2 am and tossed and turned in his bed all night. He had a disturbing dream yet it was very erotic. It was unfortunately about Hope, the overly emotional assistant professor down the hall. He was fucking her pretty damn hard on his desk. She had a trench coat on that was opened and a very naughty bra and panty set that was all black and barely covered anything. Black heels and very thin hose. She lay on her back on his desk and he had simply pulled those black panties aside at the crotch and was fucking her deliriously hard, his fingers pressing hard at her cleft, her body rocking up and down from the force. How you like that, Ms. Griffiths? You don't? Don't play with me, sweetie. I felt your orgasm....

He shook out of it. He would rather dream about someone else, anyone other than Hope. She was pretty much a bitch.

The weird thing was he felt like he knew her. Some little flashes here and there. An even odder thing was, he was having those flashes before he ever met her. 

Sitting at his laptop, he pulled up her profile on the internal academic profiles at the College. 

Hope Naomi Griffiths. Born in Midlothian, VA. History and Architecture. Farther down the page it said Loves to bake, listen to alternative and new wave music, ride bikes, go to flea markets. Considered Hans Kruse to be like an uncle to her. She was a two years younger than Adam. He wondered if she was dating anyone and then was annoyed that he even wondered. 

He looked at her photo. He had definitely seen her before and he knew it was in prior dreams or maybe out in public? Did they meet at a convention before? She couldn't have gone to school with him. He was from Boston, Mass. 

A knock then came to his door and he quickly shut down the window on Hope's profile, "Come in..."

Hope opened the door. Miss erotic panties. Great, he thought, now I can't get this out of my head.

"I am sorry, too," she said, cutting off his train of gutter thought, "Let me introduce myself again, I am Hope Griffiths."

Adam looked at her and then the corners of his lips slowly drew up, "Adam Lorimer."


	21. A realization

Over the next two months, Hope got to know Adam a little better on a professional level. He was much nicer to her and not so callous with the things he said. He was often blunt, still, but Hope came to understand that was just his way. He had no family anymore, as his grandparents died years ago. She also learned he was adopted, which she could sort of relate to, her mother being adopted herself. Adam didn't really know who he was. He kind of floundered out there in the world and the best way to cover the loss of a familial connection was to make his work his world. Hope and Marcy and James got Adam to go out with them sometimes but he was always working on some kind of psychiatric file that took up all his time. His course load was heavy and his students always needed him for some reason or the other.

Hope tossed and turned at night. She had given up longing for a Nicky dream. She was afraid it would wake him somehow if she thought to hard about him. Cecily talked to her and said that couldn't happen since he had moved on. Something still tugged at Hope, making her think he hadn't. Cecily told her it was probably just because this new professor looked so much like Wexler. Hope agreed. Still, Hope's dreams were now nightmares; things like falling down a ravine, running from wolves, and other scary things. She chalked it up to being under pressure at work.

One morning in the College library, Adam had been talking to his assistant when he saw James walk by. He nodded to James and then a feeling of person deja vu came over him. He envisioned James dipping Hope and dancing with her. He stood there for a moment trying to remember where he saw that at. Was it just a movie that he was mistaking it from? What could that have been? He certainly didn't remember going to any kind of social gathering where James and Hope cut a rug. 

"Hold on Vanya," he said to the assistant, "I have to talk to James." Vanya went back with some books to a table and started up her laptop.

Adam walked up to James who was looking for a book in the History section, "James," Adam said, "Can I ask you something?"

James turned and looked at Adam with a huge smile. Adam got the impression James was attracted to him, and James did nothing to hide the fact. "Hello, Doctor," James said.

Adam ignored the vibes, but asked James, "Hey, did you and Hope ever go to some dance, or social gathering where you danced?"

James just looked at him, then said, "Umm...I'm sure we have. Why?"

Adam didn't know how to proceed, "Because I feel like...I dunno...I have been having some weird things happen to me lately. I just kinda think I am in a funk and not really sure, but I feel like I've been places with you guys, like out or something."

James was confused, "What? Like in the past? How long have you been in Virginia?"

"Not long at all. I've never laid eyes on you two before the faculty event back in August."

"Hmmm..." James just stood there.

"I've also..." Adam moved closer, "...I've also seen Hope before I met her. Weird."

James was wide-eyed. Not because of the proximity of Adam, but because of what Adam was saying. He was beginning to slowly catch on. 

"Adam, you said you had amnesia. Um, what did the doctors tell you about your past? I mean...do you remember anything at all prior to that?"

"No."

James was thinking something and he didn't want to say it. He was thinking there may be more to Adam's connection to Nicky than looks. Additionally, Adam had not read anything in the Wexler report, so he couldn't be screwing with James. That report was only given to the department heads. Hope's boss had it, and a few others. It was not out for anyone elses perusal. Also, Hope didn't include a photo of Nicky's portrait in the report; in other words, if someone was going to play a joke, it would only be because they had access to the document Hope wrote. Adam did not and did not know about his eerie resemblance to Nicholas Wexler. James was beginning to realize something but it was impossible. 

Then again, a lot of impossible things had occurred in the last couple of months.

James patted Adam on the shoulder. "Adam, life is strange."

Adam looked at James funny and then watched the man get back to work, "Yeah...it is, I guess," Adam said turning to go. 

James stood still wondering if he could catch a scent of lavender. 

Nothing. 

 

***

3 am, Adam was laying in bed wearing just his black sweat pants. It had been cold when he went to bed but now he was hot. He pulled the things off and threw them across the room, pissed that he couldn't sleep. He kept having weird dreams, weird visions. It was unsettling. 

He had just had another dream about laying on the floor of a dark cabin of some sort. There was artwork hanging up and a desk in the room. A small spare-looking bed was in the corner. The cabin was dark, eerie, dank. He couldn't find his way out of the cabin was having a panic attack that he couldn't get out. Someone or some thing was scratching at the door and he shrunk back into the corner, afraid of what was on the other side. He was naked, starved, and scared. 

If that wasn't enough, the prior night he was standing in front of a huge southern plantation-style home. A woman and her children were sitting on the front porch and the woman looked drained. She was a small blonde thing and she rocked back and forth in a daze. He walked up to her and tried to talk to her to ask her where he was at. She looked right through him and it bothered him deeply, and yet he didn't know who she was.

The worst part were the dreams about Hope Griffiths. He could see her laying in a fetal position on an old-fashioned settee. He knelt in front of her and started to touch her hair. She was twitching and moaning as if in displeasure. She opened her eyes finally at him and let out a noiseless scream which was terrifying. She was afraid of him. He was pulled back by a force and woke up to the alarm clock.

He was beginning to feel like he was bewitched. These were very realistic dreams. He was hoping that maybe they were some kind of light being shed on his forgotten memories. Maybe things prior to the amnesia were coming back to him. It didn't make sense because he didn't know Hope as a child, and she certainly wouldn't have been an adult back then. 

6 am, Adam was up and showering. He was tired as hell and his eyes looked like death when he gazed into the mirror to shave. Susie would've thought he was a mess, he thought.

He was finished with shaving and was running the razor under the faucet. "Who's Susie?" he said to himself.

 

7 am, Adam was in traffic. He was sitting there, listening to his satellite radio, gazing at the van in front of him. It had a magnetic sign on the back door: "Susie's Cakes and Catering". Susie...Susie. That name. Who was that? Was she in one of his classes?

7:45, Adam was at the door to his office trying to get in but had a hundred things in his hands. Hope and James had just arrived and James was stopped by a student who was asking him some questions. Adam was dropping books and Hope was laughing and coming to help him. A student behind Hope was walking and yelled, "Nicky!!"

"What?" Adam said, absentmindedly.

Hope stopped in her tracks and just stood there, her eyes looking at him with some kind of shock.

The student behind Hope had been trying to get the attention of some kid that was apparently named Nicky that was coming through the outside door next to Adam's office. The two students joined up, and walked away, not registering Adam answering.

Hope was still there staring at him.

"Hope?" he asked. He wasn't really registering what he had just done.

She turned on her heel and went the other way, picking up to a run, and slammed through the doors leading out to the Arts & Sciences courtyard. James was standing there and had seen most of what had happened. James, too, looked "weirded out" and Adam just went back to going into his office. 

 

James found Hope crying in her car in the parking lot. He told her to unlock the door and she let him in.

She hugged James and held onto him for a moment.

"He's here...he's here, James."

"I know."

James had told Hope about the odd run in at the library. Obviously Adam had a flashback or recollection of the time he...or Nicky...came upon Hope and James dancing in the parlor back in Wexler. There was no way this could've been anything else. Against James' better judgement he had told Hope about what happened and she immediately paced in her office. "This is crazy. Was he put into another person's body? The body looks the same if that happened...." Hope said, biting her nails and pacing back and forth.

That had been the other day. Now Hope and James were in her car realizing a few things.

"Does he even know who he is?" Hope said softly.

"I don't know," James answered. 

 

***

The next day Hope, James, Marcy, and Adam went to the same tapas place they first hanged out at. Marcy and James were talking and Adam was looking at Hope, who was avoiding his eyes, and had been ever since that odd scene the prior morning. 

"Hope..." Adam said, pulling his chair further, "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him slowly, his face. God. "Yes.....Adam."

"You kind of acted weird yesterday. I didn't know if I insulted you again and I just don't remember it."

Hope shifted in her chair and then stirred her tea, "Adam, I've just got a lot on my mind...."

"What is it? You know I'm a shrink," he laughed softly, trying to look into her eyes. He was becoming more and more attracted to her.

She looked at his green eyes. No they were gray. Hazel? Just like Nicky's. She stood up and said finally, "Come with me, I need to talk to you."

Hope and Adam exited the tapas place. He looked confused, "What is it?" he asked.

Once they were around the corner she kept walking and led him into a small park. They made it to the middle of the park and then Hope, took him by his face and kissed him long and hard, her hands on his cheeks. He kissed her back, long and hard in return, his lips taking over.

"Tell me you don't remember that?" Hope said, still holding his cheeks, looking up at him, searching his eyes.

He smiled and looked past her and then back down, his hands on her hips, "Um....it was nice, I like it..." he leaned back in to kiss her.

"No, stop...wait," she said, "You remember me? You kissed me before, maybe?" 

What was she getting at, he wondered? He was turned on by her taking him out to the park and laying one on him really hard. It was sexy as hell and he honestly wanted to take her back to his place right then and there.

"Sweetie, we've never kissed before. I am pretty sure I'd remember it," he said, smiling down at her.

"Think," she said, serious eyes searching, her hands now resting on his chest, "What do you remember?"

He looked down at her and then looked away. Did James tell her about the chat they had in the library the other day? Is this what she was talking about?

He looked back at her, "Hope, if you mean what I asked James, I can explain. I know I've seen you two somewhere before we all met...but I don't remember where. It's very strange."

Hope listened to him eagerly. Her eyes were searching for something more it seemed. He didn't want to exactly tell her about his sex dreams about her as he believed they would creep her out, and he didn't think his dreams about the cabin and the huge house had anything to do with her.

"Adam," Hope said carefully, "Do you know of a town called Wexler?"

"No."

"It's in South Carolina. Maybe a population of 2,000 people."

He let go of her and then put his hands on his hips, looking down, "Okay?"

"There's an old antebellum house there...a big big house. Built in 1825. It's still there. I've seen it."

Adam looked up at her, "Yeah?...."

"And a family lived there. A really amazing family..." Hope said. 

Adam was beginning to think about the house he saw in his dream.

"...there was a son, an artist, who lived there..."

Adam stopped her, "Do you have any photos of this house?"

Hope immediately reached into her purse and withdrew her cell phone, scrolling through it. She smiled when she found it and turned the cell around to face the picture she took at Adam.

The look on his face spoke volumes. He recognized the house as being in his dream. It was the exact same house, yet much older-looking and in a slight state of disrepair. His eyes had a far away look and he raised his head to look past her, as if seeing something playing out for him from the past.

Hope waited for him to say something, but when he didn't she said, "You know this place, don't you. Don't you?"

He turned around, putting his hands in his pockets and started to walk. She followed him. 

"Hope, I...." he said.

"Yes??"

He turned and looked at her, "I need to sort some things out." 

And with that she watched him walk away and out of the park. 

Hope knew. She knew alright. It was just going to take time for him to be aware.


	22. Finding Wexler

As soon as Adam got home he powered up his laptop and went to work researching Wexler, South Carolina. He found the house, he found the family, and he found the story of a vagabond artist named Nicholas Allen Wexler. At that point, no new research had been published, as Hope's report was not yet made public. He read about the family, who suffered the untimely loss of this Nicholas person, and the following death of an older sister, Bethany, in childbirth. The research yielded a lot of information about how the Wexlers basically brought the town of Knightsville from a backwater burg to a nice little town full of small-scale industry. There was a music school opened by the Wexlers in Elizabeth and Bethany's memory by an Ursula Wexler. There was a local Confederate outpost that the Wexler's supported to keep Knightsville safe during the War of Northern Aggression. A local plantation was spawned against some of the Wexlers' wishes, but Bradley Wexler pushed for it. A bank came to town and so did a ladies tea room. Abraham Lincoln stopped in a nearby town and was said to have visited Wexler. A library was opened by the Wexlers in 1880 and to it a large allottment of books was donated. In 1890, the town was renamed Wexler, the grandchildren of Ursula and Susannah attending the ceremony. 

At about 2 am Adam closed his laptop and fell asleep. He had made his mind up. Saturday was the next day and he got up and rented a car at 7 am, taking Monday and Tuesday off, cancelling classes, and drove to Wexler.

Getting into town seven hours later he immediately drove to Wexler House, his GPS coming in handy. A woman in a black flowing shawl was unlocking the gate at the time he got there. He laughed to himself and remembered the Stevie Nicks "Gypsy" video. He pulled into the short driveway area before the gate and getting out of the car halfway he addressed the woman.

"Excuse me, but...I drove seven hours to see this place. Is there any way I can get up close to it?" he said, already seeing the house from the road and immediately recognizing it from his dream.

The woman turned around and upon looking at him she dropped her keys and stood there stunned. 

He looked at her with his eyes squinted and an 'Okaaaay...' look on his face. Did she think he was going to hurt her? It was a remote area and maybe she wasn't expecting any guests.

"Nicholas Wexler?" she said, walking up to him slowly, extending a hand from her long shawl, about eight bracelets clanking, "Oh my God...do you ever look like him, honey."

She got uncomfortably close to him and poked his arm. 

"The artist?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, honey. You look just like him," she said, eyes wide open, "I think you need to follow me and we'll go look at the house."

She opened the gates and he followed her car up to the house. He was mesmerized by the place. It looked just like something out of a southern gothic novel, all huge oaks, swaying moss, and an enormous white plantation-looking house with a fair amount of disrepair. He saw that some contractor's supplies were there, as work had begun on restoring the place.

They stopped their cars and the woman came back to him, "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself...I'm Joan Bishop. I am what you would call the caretaker of this great place."

They shook hands, "Adam Lorimer. I am a professor at William and Mary. Just thought I'd visit and have a look around."

Joan's eyes got big, "Ohhh! That is where Hope and James are at."

"You know them? I work with them."

"Oh heavens yes...they stayed with me for almost two months. Well, Hope did, mainly. Man, do I have a story to tell you."

 

They entered the house and Adam was immediately immersed in the smell of 200 years of wood, cloth, and dust. It was a good smell, but an old one. A huge metal ladder was in the hallway and some more work supplies. "Please excuse our mess," Joan said, smiling, her shawl sliding gently around the ladder as she made her way to the parlor.

Just then Adam saw it. Wrapped in plastic but sitting on the mantle was the painting of Nicholas Wexler. He stopped, eyes wide and went up to it, taking it down. Behind it were the paintings of Ezra and Elizabeth. 

Joan walked up to him looking down at it as he held it. "See...." she said, with a knowing smile. "See what I mean?"

 

Adam had to sit back down with it and found the settee, which he has definitely seen before, and stared at it. Slowly memories started flooding his brain and he felt a headache coming on, his thoughts racing a mile a minute: Nicky....Susie....Nancy.....Bradley....Annie.....Calvin....mama.........father.......Ursula......Beth........Benita......again.....again.......sickness...water......mud.......booze........ blood.......help me....portraits....Nancy's eyes.....Susie on the floor crying.....rage.....rage....rage......dying.................................Hope.

Hope.

"I thought," he started to talk, "I thought I was supposed to go to the light...why am I back, Joan?" Adam said, now wondering who the hell he was but getting an idea. 

"Adam, I don't know," Joan said, somehow understanding what was going on, "I can't explain the unexplainable."

Adam took a deep breath. Who the hell am I? Am I him, or am I me? Did he take me over? How is it that I look like this man? How is this at all possible? 

He tried to remember his grandparents but now lost their faces. The Lorimer family adopted him. He has no idea where from. He doesn't remember anything about them and never connected with them for a reason. All his life, that is the parts he could remember from the age of fourteen, he felt nothing for these people. He felt like an old soul and didn't have many friends growing up. He was shut off at some point by something and seeing Hope brought that back.

He now distinctly remembers having sex with Hope. Long hours of beautiful aching sex with her. He remembered how she looked, breathless under him and how her eyes closed as she cried out when he brought her to the edge. God, he realized, this amazing woman. He longed to touch her again. 

Am I Nicky or is he me? Does this mean I get to live another life? I am not changing my name to Nicky, that is for sure. I am Adam. I think.

"Joan, I remember everything. I remember you as a little girl and your grandfather and all the shit that occurred with my sister," his jaw clenched as he said my sister, "I am in shock and I don't know what to make of this.

Joan touched his hand and looked at him, "Take it slow. This is obviously something a higher power has planned for you, my dear."

He told her he didn't believe in a higher power, which was very Adam-like. Was this a split personality now? Is that how it was going to be? He had certainly suffered through enough patients with that problem. He thought for a moment and realized he was indeed Nicky, just born again, who had learned to become cold, became a psychiatrist, went to Duke and taught, and now was at William and Mary. He was definitely in love with Hope and all the memories of her came back to him. He just wanted to hold her and bury his soul into hers, co-mingling.

"Maybe this higher power that you don't believe in wanted to give you a second chance to live a full earthly life," Joan said, with a wise and knowing tone.

He looked at Joan, "It's possible, Joan."

He got up and looked at all the portraits which he had seen so many times before. Turning to Joan he said, "Hope's portrait, as well as yours belongs here."

 

After going to dinner with Joan, her explaining the missing pieces that she knew, and him staying at her house over the weekend, Adam drove back to Richmond and made it there by noon on Monday.

He decided to call Hope up and told her to meet him at his place at 6pm. She sounded hesitant at first, not because of him so much, but because she had work to do. She didn't know he had gone to Wexler and he told Joan to not tell her yet.

 

When Hope got to his place, he opened the door smiling at her broadly. She smiled back and said, "What's got into you?" He grinned even more and let her in. His place was very nice and looked expensive. Nice furniture, nice art, nice everything. 

"Can I get you a drink, Hope?" he said, going to a small wine display he had. It was a small wooden wine cellar type display that she recognized from an expensive kitchen store in town. 

"Sure, if you have a nice white wine," she said. He smiled to himself when she said that, thinking of ghosts. 

He poured her a glass and himself some scotch and they sat down across from each other in his living room. 

"Anything happen at work today?" he asked, gazing at her.

Hope took a sip and then said, "Mmm, no. Just the same stuff. Dealing with students and I gave an exam in American History I and II," then she asked after pausing, "Where did you go? Vanya said you were off."

"Yes," he said, putting his glass down and looking at her with a grin, "I took some time to go find myself."

Hope nodded and then looked at him. He was unnerving her and he was so beautiful.

"Adam, I hope you found what you were looking for," she said, getting up to go look out the window at the view of a beautiful wooded area, "I need to go do some 'me time' as well." She then thought for a moment about the last time they spoke in the park, "Is this the time you needed to go sort some things out?"

"Yes."

"Well, did you sort them?" she laughed softly.

"Yes, Hope."

"And...?"

"Hope," he said, standing up, "Do you remember me telling you that when we meet again, I will see you. I will know you?"

Hope froze and then turned slowly around. Her heart was in her throat.

"Hope," Adam said, "See me?"

Hope's glass dropped to the floor and shattered.


	23. Love III

Hope covered her mouth and then slid to the floor, "Nicky, Nicky, Nicky..." she started saying, tears welling up, "Don't do this to me Adam, don't tell me you're Nicky when.....Oh my God.....you're here?!" she rambled on. 

Adam wasn't expecting that reaction and went over to her, paying attention to not step on the glass. He helped her up and she fell into his arms crying all over his open chest, his shirt had been unbuttoned almost halfway down. He smelled like Nicky. He smelled like him, dear God.

"Oh Nicky..." she cried, "Don't go...don't leave me."

Adam was already gently smoothing her hair, his strong arms holding onto her. Her crying was sort of turning him on and made him feel strong, like she was a delicate little thing in his embrace.

"Hope, I am not going anywhere....but give me some time to fully grasp all of this. This is really really confusing, sweetheart. I mean, I cannot explain it, but somehow all of this fits so perfectly but it's still a shock. I don't remember anything about what happened after you and I said goodbye at Wexler the last time. I think I saw a light, but maybe that is just me telling myself that. I don't remember anything and I don't know how this works. And yet..." he put his hands on either side of her face and looked down into her eyes, "...and yet I feel like I was able to live as Adam Lorimer and then back again as Nicky with the memories and experiences of two people. Memories of you, Hope. Memories of every single thing we did."

Hope was looking up at him all teary and he caressed her face. 

"So...what do I call you?" she asked.

He looked away and saw a plane flying out the window. He had lived over 200 years and yet didn't feel a day over 33. The blend of two lives wasn't as much confusing as the questions as to why he was there and not living in The Light. Maybe Joan was right. Maybe this was his second chance to have a normal life.

"Hope. I want to continue to go by Adam Lorimer. Its my new life, my second chance. Plus, it would be weird if I changed my name to a deceased person. What would the College think? They'd probably call me bonkers......well, I am bonkers. A shrink with a life after death and two personalities. I might as well be schizoid, too," he said, laughing. "I am Nicky, I am always your Nicky...but I am Adam, too."

Hope laughed for a second, "I will call you Adam. But I will think of you as Nicky. I know it."

"Hey, don't toss Dr. Lorimer to the side, Ms. Griffiths. He is important here, too," he joked.

"I know he is. I am just so used to Nicholas Wexler."

"Yeah. I have to get used to being both now." The insanity of it all was too complex, too hard to contemplate. All he knew is he wanted her. Every single inch of her body, mind, and soul.

 

Ten minutes later they were fumbling to remove each others' clothes. Adam had trouble unlatching Hope's bra from the back, despite undoing clasps a million times. She just pulled the thing off with ease and flung it, knocking over a vase. She gasped and then Adam gave her a dirty look, but then he smiled. She ripped his button down shirt open, buttons flying all over the place and ran her hands all over his chest, shoulders, arms...grasping hard at his firm ass. This action pulled him closer to her and his stiffness up against her panties, as her pants were already off. They fell onto the bed, him in his pants and her in her underwear, grinding into each other, just wanting to kiss for a long long time. She pulled his hair and he purred hungrily as he buried his face in her cleavage, licking, sucking, and taking in her scent. She smelled like his sweet girl. And his sweet girl was going to be ravished.

Within ten minutes she came just from dry-humping him, the wetness soaking the panties, making her cleft visible through the cotton. Adam was so turned on that he could've lost it all there but held on to his resolve. They got his pants of, him kicking them off and he ripped her panties off of her without missing a beat. Lovingly kissing each other, slowly, softly, taking the time to relearn each other they held off on him entering her. His cock was achingly hard at her mound, rubbing against the light patch of hair she had. Her hand found him and stroked him, "Careful.....sweetheart......I want to cum inside you first...." he breathed. She nodded in agreement, and cupped him, feeling down below his shaft, the velvety softness and then on to his ass, thighs, back, and shoulders. They lay kissing, their eyes closed softly, both of them stealing a peek at their partner off and on, so happy to finally be reunited with each other. 

"Hope," he said softly, "I love you so much."

"Oh Adam. I love you. I love you...I love you," she said breathlessly.

He then laid her out, spreading her legs, and slowly entered her, his eyes closing and her giving a little shriek. He felt fuller and more amazing than ever before. This was unbelievable, she cried inside. Possibly in the dreams she was only getting a part of Nicky. Here, she was getting more. She was getting him for real, in the flesh, full and powerful, and ready to show her everything. She came hard again and again under his possession. Effortlessly. Amazingly. 

That evening they made love for what seemed hours. At one point Adam turned her over on her stomach and entered her pulsating warmth from behind. He pushed forward and put pressure into her, making her cry out in pleasure. His body was hot and slick and he had to grip onto her hips in order to not lose balance. They did almost everything. Every way, every position, everywhere. 

This was definitely different than Nicky. It was him brought forward into the future. A more sexually charged version of him. One that could curl his fingers and place them inside her, knowing how to stroke her, knowing how to talk dirty, but knowing how to swing back into the most gentlest, sweetest, slowest loving creature ever. Adam was everything. She knew now that Nicky was Adam. And he was perfected upon, modern, and totally just as in love with Hope as he ever was before.

It would still take some getting used to.

 

After their seemingly endless session, they lay in his bed, placing their palms together like they did in her dreams back at Joan's. His hand was so large and strong next to her soft fingers.

"Hope, this is bizarre. I mean...I wonder how many other people walking the planet right now have gone through what I went through?"

She had not thought of that but nodded her head, "I am sure there is someone else."

"I wish I knew. It's like reincarnation. But I feel like I've always been here. No interruption, really. And it doesn't feel like 200 years."

"Do you miss your family?" she asked, facing him.

"Yes," he mused, "But my separation from you was what killed me. Maybe that is why I am back....and before I wanted my name cleared, which, by the way, you need to publish that document."

"I'm trying," she said, "The history dean has it. I need to check on that."

"Yeah," he scratched his head, "I guess it's not a huge concern. I just want it to be settled in the end."

"Adam," she said, sitting up on her elbow and looking down at him, "I think if you're here now it is."

She was right. In a few months the paper would be out for the general public to read. The real next step was how to tackle their lives together.


	24. Wexler.  Home.

Hope almost spent the night at Adam’s. It was midnight when she realized she needed to go home and be ready for work the next morning. Their last session had been a hard one, with her realizing she would definitely be sore in the morning. They tried to pace it so they could climax at the same time but Hope lost it and began before Adam could. He came later, growling hard and definitely pleased as he collapsed on her.

“You’re heavy, oomph,” she laughed. He rolled over and then sat up a little, reaching for something in his side drawer. He took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You smoke?” Hope said, propping herself up like he was, against a pillow.

“Sweetie, after sex like this…I feel like I have to,” he laughed, putting two cigarettes in his mouth, lighting both, and handing one to Hope. He looked hot lighting the cigarettes, but she declined.

“I haven’t smoked in years,” she said.

“Take it,” he said, laughing.

She smoked the cigarette and then coughed. It had been a while.

He took a long drag and smoke emerged from his nostrils, “Damn. I never had sex like this before. I mean, in college I had a threesome…” he said.

“Adam!!”

“What?!” he laughed hard, and coughed, “Sorry. Remember, I haven’t always lived with the realization that I was a more gentlemanly person.”

Hope nodded. It was true. She couldn’t hold that against him. No more than he could hold against her that she was engaged prior at one time. It was the past. He just happened to have a really weird one. 

He turned to her, “I hope you don’t just want Nicky back, I mean, I am me,” he said, his eyes serious.

She turned and kissed him long and hard, then said, “No, no…just remember all this has to sink in for me. Remember, I knew you as another person, but you’re still inherently Nicky. And you’re still very much Adam. I want both, really. I was just more used to him, is all.”

He kissed her back, “Thank you. I know this is weird for you, too.”

“It will all make sense,” Hope said, “and we have a lot of time to re-learn things.”

 

***

Two weeks later, the College had Hope publish her paper in a historical journal. She was careful to leave out anything containing a portrait of Nicholas Wexler. She didn’t want people making a connection between Nicky and Adam, no matter how far-fetched it really seemed. Knowing no one in their right mind would ever say the two were the same guy, she felt at ease, but guarded just the same. Joan, James, and even Cecily were sworn to keep the whole thing secret. 

With the help of Joan's newfound money, the town of Wexler getting in on helping with restoring and preserving the house, and Hope's paper with the College, things were looking on the up and up that the house would become a landmark on the historic register as an important place in the history of Wexler, SC.

“Hope,” Adam said, while they were driving down to Wexler, SC one morning, James in the back seat, “Calm down…no one is going to say, ‘Gee, Nicholas…Adam…must be the same guy!’”

James laughed and said, “Right, Adam...really, Hope…it’s cool.”

Hope had been worrying because the portrait was in the parlor and a few workmen had probably seen it. But Joan confirmed that no one was “Batshit crazy enough, darlin’, to think they were the same guy.”

They were on their way to Wexler to see how the house was coming along and see Joan. Joan and Mike were engaged and there was another reason to celebrate. 

They got to Joan’s and the portrait of Nicky was in her guest bedroom where Hope had originally stayed, “There, to make you feel better it’s out of sight, honey,” she said.

“Good!” Hope said and then they walked back out.

 

Later on they went to the gravestones to pay their respects. 

Something dawned on Adam as they were standing there, “Um…who’s down there in my coffin if I am here?”

He, Hope, and James all looked at each other, “Aw hell no girl…that is too spooky to even think of,” James said after they had all paused to consider it.

“The only way we can find out is to dig the grave up,” Adam said, hands on his hips, looking serious.

Hope turned and looked at him, ”Are you kidding me?!”

“No. I want to know if it’s an empty coffin.”

James and Hope looked at one another with a ‘I think he’s serious’, kind of look.

Hope turned and saw Joan and Mike walking across the lawn back at the house. She then remembered Mike had access to some geological equipment. It dawned on her that there was another way outside of disturbing “Nicky’s” grave and possibly the others next to it.

“Oh my God…James, remember how Mike had some equipment his buddy loaned him?”

“Yes…” James wasn’t catching on but then realized what she was getting at, “That’s right…it can ping some stuff back at us on a screen.” Then he realized how macabre it would be if there was a body down there, “Ewww…what if they find something?”

The thought gave Adam a chill. They all stood there looking at the grave, afraid of what might come back. Adam needed answers. It was his life and there was no other known case like this. He had no one to turn to for advice, no one to give him answers. He needed to know, and Hope understood this.

Mike was told there was some ‘research’ that had been found indicating Nicholas Wexler wasn’t really buried there. It was the only way they could explain to him why they needed to use the equipment back there at the gravesite. It turns out Mike didn’t return the equipment yet and was able to bring it out and use it. 

Everyone braced themselves when the scanning device brought back the first images of what was down there.

Adam squeezed Hope’s hand, not knowing what he’d do if there was a body down there. How could he exist in two places. Or not exist, that is.

“What?!” Mike said, seeing the image come back.

Hope and Adam and James all ran back to the monitor. There, in a long coffin with a hexagonal shape to the head, was what looked to be…

“Absolutely nothing!” Mike said. “I guess them Wexlers buried no one.”

Adam closed his eyes in relief that this wasn’t going to get more confusing. Hope was relieved as well, but wondered if this was always the case; was Nicky down there up until the time Adam came into being? It was enough to give her a headache.

Mike said, “And here I thought we’d find ourselves a body or some gold.” He turned off the equipment and said, “Is there anything else you kids might need me to look at?”

“No!” Hope said, happily. This was over. No more looking for anything for a while. Not at least until the next issue comes up.

 

Later that evening just before nightfall Adam and Hope got into the car and drove over the old Knightsville-Conroy Bridge. Adam stopped the car when he realized it was the exact same bridge as before, only reinforced with metal on the underside. Here he had driven Bradley Wexler to kill himself. “I have to get out and look at this,” he said.

He helped Hope get out of the car and explained, “This is where Bradley ended his existence on this planet,” he said with a cold look on his face. He looked off out into the dark ravine under the bridge, lost in time, remembering how he drove the man to hang himself. “My last words to him were about Susie.”

Hope stared at him, amazed at all this person before her had seen and done. Two lives, two as a living man, one as a dead man. 

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly.

“Not at all,” he had a smug look on his face, “Not at all.” He sat there for a moment and then shook out of it, "Time to move on."

They got back into the car and turned around, heading back to Wexler House.

Hope was quiet at first, then stating, “Adam, I am here for you every step of the way. Every single step. From here on out. If anything bothers you, hurts you…I will be there for you.”

He reached out and caressed her cheek, “I know that baby…and me, too.”

They smiled at each other for a while as they drove on down the road, passing the home Nancy Bourdeaux once lived in, now a bed and breakfast. Past the area where the tavern was. Past the old bank and renovated and updated music school his sister Ursula had built. Past all the new buildings with their southern charm in quaint downtown Wexler.

 

***

Joan and Mike’s wedding was beautiful and held in front of the house. Over two hundred people came, from all parts of South Carolina, especially from Wexler. Herman was a ring barer despite almost running off after a squirrel and carrying two expensive rings in a pouch around his neck.

Adam stood behind Hope, his hands around her waist, watching the entire thing, looking up at the house that he had known forever and a day. He saw movement in the top right room where Benita had once slept, where his sister once slept, and who knows who else. The curtain opened just a little bit and he saw two little children look down and over at him, a pale blonde woman appearing in a 19th century empire-waist dress and curls at her temple. She smiled broadly at Adam and he back at her. He was home now, with his Hope, his family, and his new life.

“Wexler,” he said softly.”

Hope turned around and kissed his lips, “Yes, Adam…”

“Home.”

 

THE END.


End file.
